


Work In Progress

by Davechicken



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Canon-Typical Deaths, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Medical issues, Mental Disintegration, Mental Health Issues, No glorification, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Survival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-10-26 15:16:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 36,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10789272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Ben Organa-Solo has so many stories in his head, but when he bumps into someone who shouldn't exist, he runs the risk of losing his grip on reality entirely.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that I warn UP and not down. There is no glorification or gratuitous depictions of things, but there are references. At no point is the primary relationship abusive.

Ben has smudges all over his fingertips, no matter how hard he tries to keep them clean. Graphite blurs over the ends, and the faintest lines from his inks. He doesn’t even know how he gets pen on his hands, he just does. 

The top of his cap is chewed to hell and back, but at least when he puts that in his mouth there’s no risk he’ll bust open the actual thing and end up with a stained mouth. Instead, he gets pens that no one in their right mind would ever try to borrow or steal.

He’s stuck on how to do the shading for this next part. He’s got the outlines inked in, and he kind of doesn’t want to finish it, because it won’t be  _right_ , but it is also not right without the shading. He wonders why the hell his army of freaking magic-knights have to all wear shades of black, and why black is still the colour of ‘evil’ in this galaxy long, long ago and far, far away… but at least the masks mean he doesn’t have to draw their faces, because he doesn’t know what those look like.

He only knows one face, really. Seven masks, one face. Well. Eight masks, if you include ‘his’ own. 

Ben can draw all the masks and armour from memory, and most of the ships. There’s only one face he tries to master, and he never really gets it right. It’s all angles where it’s hard to show, and his hair is so… it’s just… he can never get the right colour, and why is he even trying to draw him? He can’t draw people.

He can never draw people. He’s never had that skill, and he has no patience, and for the love of everything  _why_ won’t it stop? He’d thought that getting one good picture of them all would exorcise the daydreams, and let him move on. Back to designing cars like he always used to do. Away from the childish fascination with impossible robots and flying city-sized monstrosities that could never land…

Just one good picture of them all and he could get back to trying to his work-drawings. These scribbles aren’t for anyone else to see, and they aren’t making him feel better, so if he could just  _stop_ with them…

His fine-liner taps a distant rhythm like war drums against the squishy plastic of his ice-whirled caffeine monstrosity, when he looks up and sees -  _sees_ \- no!

Walking past the open front of Ben’s favourite coffee shop is a tall, slender man. He’s in a thick, seal-grey duffel coat, buttoned up to the throat. A messenger bag slung over one shoulder, and a shock of perfectly-russet hair.

Fuck. He’s the man. The man whose face he can never draw.

Ben pushes the pen back into the cap in his mouth, stuffs his pens in his case, and bundles his sketchpad up. He’s swivelling around on his tall stool when he realises the man in question has come  _into_ the coffee shop, and as the door opens to Ben nearly bolting, their eyes meet.

_He knows those eyes._

“Hux?”

“…how do you know my name?”

Haha, funny story, so I’m in space and so are you, except we’re actually on Earth right  _now_ , but you’re a major part of this vivid, fictional world I can’t stop drawing pictures about and listening to a non-stop stream of intensely violent stories which feel like they’re coming from somewhere beyond me, but–

“…uhm. I dunno. I’m–” Kylo. Kylo, Master of the Knights of Ren. “…Ben.”

“Yes. Well. I came here to buy coffee, so if you’d maybe…”

He’s sort of blocking the doorway, isn’t he? Ben pulls his supplies back towards his chest, his heart hammering. 

_I know you. I know you. Don’t you know me?_

“Sorry.”

Hux nods, and walks past him to the counter. Ben’s shaking, his face clammy, and he doesn’t know what to do. He sits back down and turns away, listening to a tone of voice he knows intimately well. Somehow - despite never having heard the words - he knows how Hux would order a decaf, skinny latte. He just  _knows_. 

It’s eerie.

The man comes close to the station to Ben’s left, picking up a cup carrier and a stirring stick. No sugar. Of course.

“…maybe… I saw you here before?” Ben tries, thinking that would explain the name, and the face. 

“Unlikely. I moved to town last week, and this is the first time I think I’ve been here.”

Shit. Ben’s been seeing his face for months. It’s not that.

“Well, as charming as this is, I have to go,” Hux says, and taps the stirring stick three times before he drops it into the waste chute.

Well. Fuck. 

***

The next few days, Ben can’t quite bring himself to leave his apartment. He knows he should, but he’s too weirded out by the prospect of bumping into the man of his nightmares again.

It’s just – okay. 

He lays out each sheet of paper, every page pulled from a sketchpad, every napkin or receipt he’s doodled the man’s face on, trying to convince himself it’s a coincidence. He can’t _possibly_ have known what he looked like.

But there – between the smudges, and the failed attempts at rendering his features – the underlying truth is undeniable. He’s been trying to capture his likeness, all along.

Which is now making him think he’s crazy.

He’s always been the creative type. When he was younger, they moved around a lot. His dad would tell him such tall tales of adventure and travel, some of which… couldn’t possibly be real. Ben had grown up thinking that alien species and spaceships and talking animals were all just beyond the horizon. 

He’d grown up watching the stars, and trying to wish real hard in the hopes he’d be taken up one day. Not for anything bad, just for… an adventure. Like the ones in the movies, or the cartoons. He’d be found by some curious adventurer, and he’d go off to explore the universe (and probably save it). 

Part of him had known it wasn’t ‘real’. The two truths had existed simultaneously: he was on the cusp of working out how to communicate with feral cats, and fly off into space, and he was just telling himself these childish stories because he was lonely and bored. It took some mental acrobatics to stay balanced on the line, but eventually the dullness of adulthood had taken his last breaths of belief from him. 

For years, there’d been no more stories. He’d been busy trying to look at girls (and pretending not to look at boys, too), or studying, or sleeping, or playing video games. He’d graduated, and he’d taken a day job and crashed utterly spectacularly into depression. 

Which was when Mom bailed him out, sending him just enough money to survive on, on the basis that he’d do all the graphic design for anyone who needed it. All her political campaigns, Dad’s business, any cronies or supporters… yeah. It wasn’t high art, but it meant he didn’t feel quite so bad living off her handouts. Plus, his work ended up on buses and posters and websites and stuff.

It felt a little like selling out, but you had to, if you wanted to eat.

Then last year, he’d been stalled for inspiration, utterly blocked. Some asinine thing about climate change and Ben had been up all night and his fingers were cramped. 

He’d been feeling weirdly melancholy, like he’d walked right out of some wangsty teen poem or something, or some work of classical fiction, and he’d packed his sketchpad and hopped on the bus, sitting by the window to let the lights flash by. His eyes unfocused, drinking in the slogans and the logos subconsciously, trying to ignore the gratuitous waste of resources that was his bus ride (at least it wasn’t a cab, he was just sitting on a bus that _had_ to run), and the energy consumed by all the neon lights.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

He’d been lulled so deep, although maybe it was sleep deprivation, and he’d just… slipped from reality. The lights had turned to streaks as his mind went faster than light alone could move, and he’d been there, in space.

On a ship.

Standing, in front of a star-field, slowly resolving to black, dotted with distant white.

Aboard a ship.

He could tell, because everything was metal. His breathing rattling around his face, as he assumed he was wearing a spacesuit? Except when he’d lifted his hands, he was in leather and black fabrics. His fingers came up to feel for the shape of the mask, and then he’d realised he wasn’t alone.

“Ren?”

The tall, ginger man. Grey clothes. Neat lines. Shiny boots. Stern mouth.

From the start, he’d been there. 

“What?”

“Ren, are you quite well?”

Ben. His name was Ben. Why was he calling him that? Did he have a speech impediment?

“Where are we?”

“Were you not paying attention?”

Why does his own voice sound so weird? “Can we assume I wasn’t?”

“Jakku. Where we were _sent_. To retrieve the _map_.”

“The map.”

“To the last Jedi.”

Right. Which made no sense at all.

***

Ben wakes up with a judder, his face pressed into the pillow, drooling slightly. One arm has gone numb from his extended period of sleep-deprivation-pay-back, and only the shrill noises from his phone pull him back to reality.

As his right arm doesn’t work, he uses his left, putting the phone on speaker.

“Mom?”

“Ben, you aren’t replying to my texts. Is everything alright?”

He looks around the room. There’s papers with the redhead’s face all over, and at least four mugs of coffee and three empty cans of energy drinks and half a pizza.

Pretty normal to wake up feeling junked after that kind of a night. “Yeah. Just… artist’s block.”

He can’t even remember if he’s got a project he’s supposed to be working on or not. None of them fill him with passion, so he just does them, and sends them on their way. It’s not art, it’s – it’s – just… filling time, space, and eyes.

“You did remember you’re coming to dinner tonight, right?”

“Yeah.” No, he hadn’t. “What time?”

“Seven.”

“Okay.”

“My new campaign manager is coming. I want to introduce you.”

Oh, great. Ben _hates_ campaign managers. They either want to recruit him to the cause, or pretend he doesn’t exist. His actual existence is – apparently – anathema to his mother’s career, without some severe editorial interference. 

“Great,” he mumbles. “I guess I should start getting ready.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

He hangs up, and pushes his head back into the pillows. Another eager-faced, wet-behind-the-ears idealist to break in. Just what he wants.

***

Ben brushes up as nicely as he feels able to, and makes his way to the Organa-Solo residence. Maybe normal folks change their names when they get married, but when your political capital comes from a name that you’ll lose, then you don’t. 

Ben is the only Organa-Solo, in reality. His parents both keep their pre-marriage surnames, and no one thinks this is that weird.

He hangs up his backpack when he gets in, sliding off his worn-down sneakers and wriggling his toes in his mostly-matching socks. He won’t put on house-shoes ( _slippers_ and no one will convince him otherwise), and he traipses through the house and into the lounge.

Where.

Of course.

“Hux.”

“You’ve met?” his mother asks, turning to peer over the top of her half-moon spectacles.

“…briefly, in… the coffee shop?” Hux asks. “You had apparently already heard my name.”

“Must have heard me talking about hiring you,” his mother concludes, closing the matter. “Adrian, please meet Ben.”

Adrian. The name is wrong. It is _so_ wrong. Ben can’t help but wrinkle his nose in distaste, but then there’s a hand, and he has to shake it. “Yeah. Hi again, I guess.”

“I’m your mother’s new—“

“Campaign manager, I know,” Ben says, trying not to sound as annoyed as he feels. “Hope you’re ready to work hard.”

“Working hard has never been my problem, Mr. Organa.”

“Organa- _Solo_ , and it’s _Ben_.”

“Very well, Ben. But I’m looking forward to this exciting new career. Your mother has some very interesting policies and goals.”

Interesting. Read: electionable. Ben knows too well that policies and goals aren’t the same as what actually happens. He’s seen enough of politics to know that the layers of double-speak go so deep as to be almost impenetrable. 

Yeah.

“Like I said, hope you’re ready,” he repeats, with a wry smile.

“Now, boys, are you both hungry? Han cooked a lovely barbecue for us.”

Ben half expects the ginger man to say he’s a vegan or something, but he sees the smile that almost looks genuine, and he wonders how long he practiced it in the mirror.

“That sounds delightful, Mrs. Organa.”

“Please, I’m just Leia when we’re around family,” she tuts, and shepherds them both out.

Family.

Yeah. Funny how the last seat at the table is musical chairs. Ben hopes this one leaves soon, or else he’ll have another period of feeling like he’s going crazy. The last psychotic break was no fun. He really doesn’t want another.


	2. Chapter 2

His dad and his business partner Chewie are already at the table, and Ben flinches when he realises this means he’s sitting next to Hux. He smiles at them, thinly, and drops into his seat.

“Hey, kiddo, what’s new?”

“Nothing,” Ben shrugs. 

“Nice to see you again, Mr. Solo, Mr. Chouie.” 

“I told ya, it’s Han and Chewie,” Han insists. 

Chewie, as ever, just mutters something low in his native language. Ben knows for a fact that he can understand English, he just chooses not to speak it, mostly. 

Which is fine. Dad is bilingual, Mom knows more languages than anyone needs, and Ben grew up with so many around him that he sometimes forgets which one he’s thinking in. He wonders if Hux can understand Chewie as well.

Mom walks in, then, and places the first dish down. It’s probably been made by Chewie, or with his supervision, but Hux doesn’t need to know that. He’ll only get the family secrets if he’s around longer than the last guy. 

“It was very kind of you to invite me,” Hux says, as he passes the dish around, taking only a modest amount.

“Nonsense. You’re going to be in and out of this house so much, you consider it as much home as you want,” Ben’s mother replies.

Yeah. Ben tries not to snort, and hides it in his wine glass. 

He doesn’t really want to drink wine, but they do, so, sure. 

“I’d like to say how nice it is to see a family come together around your beliefs, too,” Hux adds, sounding like he means it.

“Because we eat at a table?” Ben asks.

“You’d be surprised how many families don’t,” Hux replies.

“Eating together doesn’t mean we’re politically active.”

“No, I haven’t seen you used, much. Which is interesting, when you have a blue collar worker and an immigrant.” Hux nods at Han and Chewie. “You would be major points in the working class demographics.”

“We ain’t using Chewie as a point scorer, kiddo,” Han says, warningly. “Leia don’t need to use cheap gimmicks to win.”

“I didn’t mean to imply—I—“

Ben rolls his eyes. “You’ll have to get a thicker skin if you come to this table. We bite back.”

***

Dinner ends relatively quickly, and then Ben’s kissing his mother goodnight, and checking the time for the next bus. He looks up to see Hux on _his_ phone, undoubtedly calling for a cab.

“You need a ride?” Hux asks.

“Depends, are you gonna try to press-gang me into public appearances?”

“No, but I _might_ pick your brains for things that would make my life easier.”

Whatever, if he’s paying... technically it will likely count as an expenses claim, so Mom (or the taxpayer) is. “Sure.”

“Near where I met you?”

“Three blocks over. I don’t mind being dropped there. It’s not a bad walk.”

Hux nods, and then slips his phone back away. Ben wonders if he’s one of those habitual phone-checkers, and how long it will remain away. 

“You’d lose as many voters as you’d gain, using Chewie. You’d get the ethnic vote, but lose the people who think immigrants are stealing all the jobs. It splits her demographic too much. Best to avoid it entirely.”

“I know, but there’s something to be said for dogged loyalty.”

“Loyalty of the disenfranchised means you get to wave at the people as you walk past them to the back of the unemployment line.” No point courting those who can’t vote, after all.

“True. Well, I doubt Chewie – or your mother – would go for it.”

“If you really want that kind of campaign, it wouldn’t really work. Sure, she’s liberal in views, but she’s... you can’t ever take the fact that she was _born_ into politics away from the argument. Mom never knew being poor. People know that about her.”

“No one in politics who gets anywhere really knew poverty these days,” Hux argues. “It’s just the game.”

“Still, I don’t think appealing to the ultra-left is going to do you any favours. Whenever the economy nose-dives, people get meaner.”

Hux’s head tilts. “Have you never considered going into politics yourself?”

“Please,” Ben snorts. “I have my dignity, and my soul.”

“And your mother doesn’t?”

“My mother is more prepared to... bend than I am. I would break before I bent.”

“Sometimes I wonder how the party would feel about a real ideologue.”

“I know precisely how they’d feel: afraid.”

***

Inside the cab, the talk gets more general. The sort of conversation you have when someone is listening, even if you don’t think they’re _listening_. Long practice has turned them both into mindless small-talk machines in the public eye, and Ben slinks out of the cab when it pulls up outside his coffee shop.

“If you’d like to contribute to steering meetings, ever...” Hux throws after him.

“I’ll think about it,” Ben lies, and pulls his hood up around his face.

***

The walls of the buildings reach up and into the drizzly sky. Ben peaks from under the edge of his hood, brushing his hair back, looking for stars.

He won’t see any, of course. It’s far too polluted to get anything but moonlight, but he still knows they’re there. His weird... thing with Hux isn’t resolved, and he’s been keeping the daydreams at bay by forcibly remaining in the moment all day long.

But now, on his own, he has only the inside of his own head for company. Each step (avoiding tiny puddles on the paving stones) and he remembers his body going through something much more intense.

Block. Block. Weave. Duck. Sweep. Parry. Feint. Flip. Duck.

The feel of that weapon – so strange, so unreal – shaking all the way up his arm. Why would anyone use a _sword,_ even a laser sword, when guns exist? Or ‘blasters’. There’s no projectile in the weapons, just energy. But why a sword?

He can feel the way it hums, the flickers of barely-restrained energy. The power arcing just behind his fingertips. He was – is – whatever – _special_ in this other place. The wish-fulfilment gone wrong. He’d made himself a powerful mage of some sort, but he wasn’t... he wasn’t exactly a _hero_. He wasn’t even really an anti-hero, either. 

Nor was he a dyed-in-the-wool villain. It was... complicated. The kind of Complicated you got after you watched _Watchmen_ a few too many times, or when you got drunk and tried to understand _Inception_ properly, and wound up three-years deep into meta discussions that made your brain hurt. 

His alter-ego, Kylo, was definitely an expy in some ways, like... like a therapeutic self-insert, but with everything dialled up to eleven. Where Ben might feel disgruntled, Kylo seemed to feel pure, unadulterated _loathing_. Where Ben might feel angry, Kylo was consumed with life-changing **rage**. Son of a politician, but he’d run away to a rogue political organisation, where he killed and tortured and skulked about...

Ben isn’t sure he likes what that says about him. He pauses, grabs the street-light column, and swings around it, in the rain. It’s morbid, fantasising about murdering people. It’s healthier than _actually doing it_ , but it’s not something he’s going to outright admit to in front of anyone else. 

_Yeah, when I daydream, I’m this evil space wizard who murders children for the lulz._

No one says lulz anymore. Ben kinda misses when people did.

He’s old. Like. Okay, not really, _truly_ old, but he still thinks of himself as a college-age or twenty-something, not a thirty-something. He thought he’d be more of an Adult by this age. Someone like Hux, with a suit and a career, not drawing shitty pictures and fantasising (can you call it fantasising if it’s often unpleasant) about gross things in his spare time.

He lets go of the street-light, and finds the key to his apartment. Out of the rain, and into the dark.

Yeah. Supposed to have a real job by now, not some bullshit thing. A house. Maybe a dog, maybe a cat. A nice girlfriend. Hell, maybe a boyfriend. A point to life, a reason to live.

He hasn’t turned the lights on, and when he hears the rattle on his door, he jumps.

Guiltily, he stands stock still.

 _Knock-knock-knock_.

“Ben? I can hear you in there... you forgot your cellphone in the cab.”

Shit. Ben goes to the door, and opens it up. 

The heavens seem to have opened, because Hux looks downright _soaked_ , and he steps back.

“What the hell... you look awful.”

“Thanks,” Hux sneers. “If you’d just...”

Ben takes the phone, but shakes his head. “You need to dry out. Your cab still waiting?”

“Probably.”

“I don’t know if I have an umbrella...”

“I can just use a briefcase, or... or...” 

Which is when he walks into the room, past Ben, and stares at his workspace.

Which is littered with his drawings.

“You... did these?”

The cab driver is gonna be pissed. “Yeah...”

Hux shakes his hands out, wiping them on his ass to dry them, gently rifling through the sheaves. “They’re so intricate... the level of detail on these ships... these masks...”

Ben forgets to breathe. Does Hux remember them? Does he see something in those shaped faces? Something deep, and almost-forgotten?

The man picks up one, the one that’s... a self-portrait. Stark lines of a perma-scowl, a mouth blocked off, shadows where the eyes would be. A cowl above, textured and ragged at the edges, imperfect and incomplete.

Kylo. That’s Kylo he’s looking at. 

(And suddenly he’s glad he took all the Hux-sketches into his room, because he won’t be found out.)

“You have... a very active imagination, Ben.”

“That’s what they say to hyperactive children who won’t do as they’re told.”

Hux snorts, and puts the sheet back down, but his eyes keep pulling back to it. He wants to ask, but he doesn’t dare. 

“You’ll have to tell me more, some time.”

“You’ll have to stay more than five minutes.” Shit. No. What?

Hux’s smile is _shark-deadly_ , and Ben feels an odd reaction in his core. The man looks around, grabs a glossy magazine, and lifts it over his head. “I’ll bring back the umbrella some time.”

Well.

Whoops?

***

That night, his dreams are a mess. There’s an undertone of longing to them, and he feels trapped under the mask. It’s taking away his face, his whole _person_ , making him into some monster.

(Who daydreams of murder? What kind of man is he?)

Heavy black robes, and a lack of real light. How long has Kylo Ren been in space?

A weight from above, a voice that pushes down on him, and a face he can never make resolve. It shifts, and warps, and twists. Blue flickers, more emotion than expression. Hux by his side, and Kylo (Ben) just wants to beg him:

 _Look at me_.

“The progress of our weapon is steady, and ahead of schedule,” Hux informs the towering non-entity.

“Good. You continue to exceed my expectations, General.”

Kylo doesn’t care about the weapon, he wants Hux to _look at him_ , but he won’t. He can sense the distaste rolling off the other man in waves, curling his lip ever so slightly from his teeth. 

“Lord Ren, your Knights?”

What about them? He thinks he remembers their names, here. They’ll wander in the other world. Shifting and rotating around. Hux is clear, and so is the silver-shiny-woman Phasma. But his Knights are as nebulous as the ‘man’ above him.

“Their training continues apace,” he feels himself saying, hoping he sounds real.

Or. Ben does. Kylo doesn’t realise he isn’t real. It’s like being in a dream, knowing you’re dreaming, and still being unable to wake up. Layer upon layer upon layer. 

“Very good. Ensure you find the location of the map. It is _vital_ that we destroy the Jedi.”

Ben doesn’t want that. Kylo does. 


	3. Chapter 3

Ben spends the next three days hashing out designs for his mom. Hux has several new angles he wants to poll with potential voters and supporters, and everything seems to involve a logo at some point.

Ben is not sure why a logo would really mean the end of a political career, but apparently so. It’s not like he’s making Obama Hope posters, but okay. 

Everything he creates comes back with at least three revisions. Change this tone. Check the kerning here. Look at the artefacts there. Is the balance of composition right...

So far, in his professional life, Ben has worked out the two worst, possible clients. The first have no idea what they want (no colours, no font-style, no wording, no anything) and whatever you present them with is ‘sure, fine’. There’s no steer, no angle in, and he’s never sure if they liked his work or not. He could do three copies, one with a decapitated small, cute animal... and they’d probably just say ‘the other two’.

But by a very narrow margin, the absolute worst are the ones who know just enough to think they’re smart, or who think they need to correct you, or hyper-correct you, or tweak things to prove they could do your job if they could lower themselves to it. The ones who send a swatch in, with hex codes. Who ask for tiny, minute changes. And then more. Always tweaking things _just a bit more_ , until your hand is cramping and you’re thinking in pixels. Change the ratio. Change the font. Change it back. Change it completely. Over. And. Over.

Ben thinks, perhaps, what his real problem is, is other people. In general. But this one – Hux – is so control-freaky that he actually contemplates sending him the raw files and telling him to do it himself. 

He’s wondering if maybe the other-Hux is so evil because this Hux is, too, even if the extent of his evil is: ‘that blue is too bright’ and ‘you need to pre-empt memes, Ben’. 

Pre-empt memes... what the fuck. Does Hux actually think anyone will use his artwork to make memes? Although, if Mom’s career ever does get that far along, he could see how it might be possible.

Out of idle playfulness (or spite) he makes one. It’s dumb. His mother with her buns replaced with cinnamon ones. The words of her main campaign slogans turned into bakery puns. Ridiculous (but loving) references to her Jewish heritage, and bagels. 

He shouldn’t send it, but he does.

===

 **From:** Hux, A

 **To:** Ben-O-So

 **Subject:** RE: Candidate 24601

Oh very funny. I thought the whole Les Mis thing was sunk in favour of Hamilton, these days?

===

 **From:** Ben-O-So

 **To:** Hux, A

 **Subject:** RE: RE: Candidate 24601

It’s retro. You know. Old shit that’s cool again. Would have thought someone as politically keen as you would know about that.

===

 **From:** Hux, A

 **To:** Ben-O-So

 **Subject:** RE: RE: RE: Candidate 24601

I’m actually wondering if there’s merit in this, you know. If we could get in on it, without looking like we were completely out of touch.

===

 **From:** Ben-O-So

 **To:** Hux, A

 **Subject:** RE: RE: RE: RE: Candidate 24601

Dude, trying to harness memes for good never works. You just end up looking like a pathetic corporation pretending to be a person. Or like you’re totally two-faced. It’s not worth the risk. Stick to normal stuff.

===

 **From:** Hux, A

 **To:** Ben-O-So

 **Subject:** RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Candidate 24601

I suppose. I just... want to do something, you know? I want to really make a difference. And we need to build up some cult of personality, when your mother has _such_ a personality.

===

 **From:** Ben-O-So

 **To:** Hux, A

 **Subject:** RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Candidate 24601

She driving you mad, yet?

===

 **From:** Hux, A

 **To:** Ben-O-So

 **Subject:** RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Candidate 24601

No, I like working for her. It’s more challenging than some, because she actually has opinions, rather than running for the acclaim and free lunches. 

But some of your earlier examples were definitely worth road-testing.

===

 **From:** Ben-O-So

 **To:** Hux, A

 **Subject:** RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Candidate 24601

You’re gonna leak them, aren’t you? The memes. You’re gonna let them get out in the world, and you can either run with it, or distance yourself if it flops.

===

 **From:** Hux, A

 **To:** Ben-O-So

 **Subject:** RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Candidate 24601

...how did you know I was thinking that?

===

How indeed. Ben isn’t sure, he just... knew, somehow. He gets flashes at times, like he’s able to predict people, or read their minds. He’s never really got why, but Mom just used to say it was because he was very empathetic. 

He doesn’t reply to the email, because all of a sudden—

***

“...are you even listening to me?”

Ben – _Kylo_ – looks up, jolted. 

He’s in a room with Hux, and there’s a table with hologram projections of a star-scape, dotted with various ships.

A war table?

“...I am now.”

“Ren, this is _serious_.”

“I am _now_.” Kylo feels annoyance make his jaw clench. Why does everything have to be a fight?

“We’ve narrowed down the possible locations of – of the Jedi. If you agree to dispatch your Knights, we can take a faster approach at clearing them.”

“Yes.”

Hux squints at him. “...’yes’? No bartering? No complaining?”

“My Knights are better placed to face a Jedi than your troopers. We would only find out that they’d found him by them not reporting back. Due to death. Unless they mutinied, which is also looking like a possibility...”

“FN-2187 was an aberration!”

“Nevertheless... my Knights will go with your units. We need to end this.”

Kylo sees the tension go, just a little, from Hux’s brow. He couldn’t even let this conversation go without a jibe at his Stormtroopers, could he? Always needing to needle him...

***

Ben ignores his emails, and picks up his charcoals. He can see that planet-weapon again, the one that was destroyed. He needs to get it down before he forgets it forever. Things are going rapidly downhill in the other universe, and he’s not sure why that is.

***

That night, he just can’t sleep. He can’t, and he’s tried everything.

Okay, the caffeinated beverages a few hours ago probably didn’t help, but that was hours ago, and this is now. 

He just wants to sleep. Mostly because he doesn’t want to do anything _else_. His hand throbs from before, and there’s nothing interesting to watch, and he’s eaten, and he’s just...

Wow. He’s really sad, isn’t he? He wants to sleep just because he’s got nothing better to do. 

Maybe he should shower, and go to a bar. Go find someone to flirt with. Catch a movie on his own. Do... anything. But what he really wants is to let his mind slip enough to go to the other place, and try to take over from Kylo. It’s so frustrating being _almost_ in control of things, but also feeling entirely out of control. It’s like a semi-lucid dream, halfway between nightmare and something worse.

He wonders what happened to Kylo’s family. No one ever talks to him about it, and there’s a blank space in his mind when he tries to go there. All he can remember is inside that organisation – ‘The First Order’ and ‘The Knights of Ren’. Nothing before.

He knows Kylo had once been a Jedi, but that part of his memory seemed to be somehow walled off. Either he hadn’t worked it out yet, or Kylo didn’t want to think about it. That seemed dumb if he wanted to destroy them, because a working understanding of the enemy was always useful, right?

Forcing the matter doesn’t work. He can’t slip into the other world deliberately, and the more he tries, the more stuck here he feels. It’s so... dull. 

In the other world, although he’s not exactly nice, at least he’s interesting. He’s feared and famed, and people recognise his mask. People _flinch_ from him, but in a way it’s better than no one knowing he exists at all. 

Magic-user. Force-user. Fighter. Spaceships. They seem ‘normal’ to Kylo, but to Ben, they’re all so exciting and exotic. All the alien species, all the different worlds... it’s so much more vibrant and open-ended, but he had to go and seclude himself with only Humans onboard a ship?

Why doesn’t Kylo run away? Why doesn’t he just walk away from all the fighting, and go live on some cool world? Ben isn’t completely convinced he believes in the war, but then—

Oh.

 _Shit_.

All of a sudden, it’s like he can talk to Kylo. Or – sort of – he can hear Kylo thinking.

_Hux would never leave._

Hux, seriously? Kylo doesn’t even really seem to get on with him. They snipe _constantly_. They do nothing but bitch and posture, and make one another’s life difficult. Hux isn’t even _nice_. 

Well, other than the aesthetic. Ben has to admit – like Kylo – that Hux is definitely something to look at, but the _General_ is fervent in his hatred of democracy. Ben could never admit he daydreams about someone who could make hugely anti-Republican (and not GOP Republican) speeches to anyone. 

Hux – General Hux – is the opposite of Adrian. He’s military, and violent, and...

 _I’ve been in love with him for years_.

Oh, shit. The sudden torrent of emotion is almost too much to bear, and Ben has to grab a pillow and push it over his face, screaming at the sudden yearning. It’s the kind of violent, obsessive, nasty love that isn’t in any way healthy. The crush you develop when you’re still a kid, and you don’t know how to flirt, other than to lash out. When you can’t communicate, and so you act like a baby.

Why the fuck? Why does he have to feel like that? And is this bleed-through because of some other-world connection, or some deep processing, or is he... sublimating an actual interest, translating it into this ‘other’ version of them?

Is he psychotic? Is he really losing his grip on reality?

His head turns, sighting under the edge of his pillow, seeing the blue flash of his phone’s notifications. He could... text him?

But why? He can’t love him. He might have a _crush_ , which would be kind of understandable. He’s all noble and smart and funny as well as handsome. He’s dedicated and moral and wicked, but in a nice way. 

And he’d likely try to get Ben sectioned the minute he admitted he was having vivid, intrusive fantasies about them hating one another in space. 

He’d probably be right to do it, too. 

Ben slips from the bed, and grabs some antihistamines, the drowsy kind. He knows it’s not really wise, especially because he’s way too neurotic to ever take more than the packet advises. But if he chases it down with enough bourbon, maybe he can force his mind to let go for the night.

He needs to get the hell over this.

And not get blind drunk and text him.


	4. Chapter 4

Ben hates. Everything. And everyone. Especially fucking. Jack and/or Daniels. Shit. Fuck. Damn. His face is stuck to the leather of his couch, and one arm is pinned below him, the other trailing knuckles on the floor, next to the empty bottle.

God fucking damnit, Ben, weren’t you supposed to be above all this shit? He made the rule a while back, and he’s kept to it til now. He had to go and get shitfaced, didn’t he?

A buzzing somewhere under his cheek makes him grunt and struggle until he can find his cellphone which...

**S. H. I. T.**

Apparently he broke _that_ rule, too. 

Oh sweet god, he’s going to be on Texts From Last Night, isn’t he? Holy hell, what’s the damage?

There’s one chain of messages telling his mom how much he loves her, even when he’s out of cream cheese (shit), one asking his dad how you dialyse your own blood for alcohol using only common household items (and a worryingly plausible response), some terrible messages to friends, and...

He doesn’t want to look at the chain to Adrian Hux. Oh god. What was he thinking? 

Maybe he could throw his phone away, or pretend it was hacked, or... that it was a joke.

(What did he say?)

Ben decides the best way to deal with this situation is to be violently ill before anything else, so he does just that.

***

The buzzer rings before he’s even had a chance to get back to the couch, and Ben staggers to it, pushing his hair back from his face.

Open a crack, and it’s Hux on the other side.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“I realise you probably feel like shit, if you drank even _half_ of what you told me you did, so I brought supplies. You want me to just leave them with you, or...?”

Fucking prick, how dare he be so considerate? Ben pushes the heel of his hand into his forehead. “Depends if you’re going to get me locked up for whatever I said.”

“Pretty sure you didn’t say anything that would mean I’d need to call the cops, unless you can be arrested for _terrible_ puns and double-entendre.”

Not the kind of locking up he meant, but he supposes it’s a good sign that Hux is here. He steps back, and lets him in. 

“I can cook you a breakfast. If you grab a shower, by the time you’re done, I’ll be ready for you. At least get you back to half-Human.”

“I don’t remember anything,” he says, watching Hux’s face. “I didn’t... do anything weird?”

“No.”

“Okay... uh... the kitchen should be...” 

“I’ll work it out.”

Ben grabs his phone and runs into the bathroom, trying not to let on that he’s desperately trying to read his messages.

***

Most of them sound pretty innocuous enough. There’s typoese all over them, and auto-correct is an unwitting third wheel. Ben scrolls past a message where he’s asking about the rug and the drapes, to no response...

You don’t just _do_ that, Ben! You don’t email hot guys and ask them about their pubes! What the hell? (Also, Hux refused to answer. Hmmm. But he didn’t complain about being asked.)

There’s a string where he started asking Hux about space, and what he thought of swords, which he examines carefully. Hux’s language is cagey, not outright denying anything, but not confirming either. At least he’s not signed his name as ‘Kylo’ at any point, though he thinks some of those texts might have been Kylo’s doing.

After a lengthy flirt-and-meme session, there’s a blown-pupil, longing selfie from his phone... and one in return. It’s obviously been shot artfully, with angles and lighting considered ( _obviously_ ) and no one would ever accuse it of being tacky, but it’s maybe a sign that his crush isn’t wholly one-sided.

Then when his messages got weirder, Hux had told him to go to bed and sleep it off, and he’d come over in the morning to make him breakfast. Ben – or Kylo – had replied saying he’d believe it when he saw it, but that he was tired, and... afraid.

Afraid?

Shit.

The messages ended, then, but a quick look at the phone log showed an incoming, answered call from Hux’s phone. They talked for twenty minutes, and then apparently Ben fell asleep.

This is so fucking embarrassing. He’s not like this, not any more. He maybe went a bit hard at college, but he’s been... respectable, since. He pulls his clothes off, putting his almost-drained phone to one side and climbing into the water, turning it on full.

 _Flash_. 

Hot water, scalding. Running red, when he looks down. Blood. He’s not sure whose, but it pools by his – by Kylo’s – feet. He runs his hands through his hair, watching as more clots and watered-down blood fall to the bottom of the basin.

Kylo holds his hair from his eyes, looking around. His helmet is to one side, his clothing discarded in a hurry. He scrubs, and looks around his body, but he can’t see any injuries.

Someone else, then. 

Okay.

Suddenly, he’s terrified that it’s—

Entirely nude, dripping water and blood, he storms out and to the datapad, smacking at it to call Hux urgently. _Pick up. Pick up. Be okay. Be okay._

“Ren?”

“Oh thank god—“

“Thank... what?”

“You’re okay.”

“Shouldn’t I be?”

“I was... never mind.”

“Ren?”

How can he explain that he woke from that weird, other place, and was terrified that something happened to Hux, making him split out from here in horror? That he was terrified for a moment that he’d been injured, or killed, and Kylo had retreated in horror, unable to process, or deal?

Because Hux already thinks he’s insane, and maybe he is. A _political aide_ , Hux? And himself an _artist_? With... with _that_ name? What was going on with him?

Some gross, maladaptive daydreaming, for sure. Pathetic, to make himself such a waste of time and space. To try to play happy families like that.

Happiness isn’t for Kylo Ren, and Ben Organa-Solo no longer exists. 

“It was... a Force-premonition.”

“What?”

“Sometimes they are only possibilities. You should... take extra care today, General.” Kylo cuts the comm, unable to keep a handle on it any longer. It’s betraying more than he thinks he can get away with, but he – he needs him safe.

The dripping, crimson puddle says as much. His heart is still in his throat, and the idea that he’d lost him... 

Ben has one thing right: he’s hopelessly in love with the man, and it’s terrible.

***

“Ben?”

The knocking finally resolves, and Ben jumps. “Huh?”

“Did you pass out in the shower? Come on, I can’t have you die on me.”

Poor choice of words, Hux. Ben turns off the shower, stepping out and grabbing a towel. “I was... just thinking.”

“Head in the clouds?”

Try past the stratosphere, he thinks, opening the door to see the worried... wait, he’s wearing the _apron_? The one Mom got him as a joke? Seriously, who wears aprons? 

“Thanks for worrying, I’m just... sometimes I go elsewhere.”

Hux steps back, and now Ben can smell a fried breakfast. Wow. He tests his belly by sniffing the air, and it growls in anticipation, not distress. A quick jog into his bedroom to throw on some yoga pants and an oversized band-T and he rolls his eyes.

“It’s a breakfast nook,” Hux points out. He’s got a plate for himself, and is perched ready.

“I know what it is, but it’s pretentious.”

“You’re the one who has it.”

“Mom pretty much picked the place. She’s paying, after all.” Ben slides in to sit opposite, grabbing the orange juice and gulping. Oh, but that feels good.

“You know your work is better than the rates she pays you.”

“I do,” Ben agrees, “...but she’s my mother, and she pays my rent, so I don’t really want to take advantage any more than I already am.”

“I don’t just mean the logo work, I mean your original stuff... that Star Trek stuff.”

Oh. Yeah. He’d looked at that last time, hadn’t he? Fortunately not at the drawings of his face, because that was a step too far into Creepyville. “I don’t even know where I’d sell those kinds of pictures.”

“I admit art sales aren’t my area of expertise, but if you did want to pursue it, I could put out feelers for a mentor, or an agent...”

“Thanks, but... that stuff... it’s kinda private.” Like, very. “It’s also therapeutic. I do those pictures to calm myself down, or something.”

“You were telling me you’ve got some kind of story behind them?” Hux sips his juice, his watercolour eyes fixing on Ben over the rim.

Play. It. Cool.

“Yeah...”

“Would you tell me more? Or is it... private?”

“Why... do you want to know?”

“It sounds interesting. I don’t know I’ve ever met anyone quite as creative as you, Ben.”

Okay, don’t blush. He slices his cutlery along his plate, and stuffs his mouth so he can have a moment’s reprieve to think about it. Gulp. Drink. Swallow. 

“It’s sort of not like I’m even creating anything, it sort of... comes into my head.”

“Like inspiration?”

“If inspiration is borderline madness, then yes.” He isn’t really joking with that, either. “I get flashes of them, of what they’re doing. What they’re up to, what their past was...”

“All of your characters?”

“Yes, but mostly...” Me. “The leader of them.”

“The one with the silvery mask?”

Ben nods, trying to read any flicker of micro-expression that would give Hux away. “How did you know he was the leader?”

“He seemed... the most... striking. And you reacted most when I touched drawings of him.”

Ah. Okay. “His name is Kylo. Kylo Ren.”

“An interesting name.”

“It’s an adopted name. He took the surname from his order. Those others in black are his – his – Knights. And the one in the silvery mask is one of the soldiers on the ship.”

It sounds sort of like a book or movie, almost. Like an evil version of the Magnificent Seven, perhaps. A manga, or a serialised show about Super Sentai. But evil. And murder. 

“It sounds like you’ve got a very vivid inner life.” 

“That’s a polite way of saying ‘you’re batshit loco’, right?”

“No, I... I wish I was this creative,” Hux admits. “I’m more literal. I don’t have that... flair. I could never create a whole world.”

No, but your alter ego could blow them up. Five of them. Ben winces, and rubs the back of one knuckle. “I don’t think I can take the credit for shit that just... happens in my head. It’s not like I do any work, I just... get flashes of things.”

“Well, maybe that’s what artists _do_?”

“I think we’re supposed to suffer more, and eat less, and pour blood into our paints and word processors?” Isn’t that what the image of the ‘artist’ is? Someone equal parts study and spark? Someone who really labours at it, and thinks about what should, or should not, be included? 

Chip away the bits that aren’t David?

Not just... listen to streams of nonsense, and wade your way through someone else’s longing, someone else’s rage? Is it actually something anyone should praise him for if he’s just tracing lines the universe puts in his head?

It feels disingenuous. 

“I think... you have to be the right kind of mind to be open to this, and then to master your hands to interpret the things you see,” Hux says. “And you definitely have a very, very striking style. It’s... haunting.”

“Uh. Thanks?”

“You should think about the agent thing. I better get to the ‘office’, or your mother will wonder where I am. Do me a favour and give your liver a break tonight?”

“Yeah, I’m all out, anyway, so don’t worry.” Ben smiles, and thinks how nice this was. He’s never told anyone about his fears before, about how he doesn’t feel like a sincere artist. How he’s terrified he’s a fraud, somehow.

Hux takes his dishes to the dishwasher, stacking them neatly away, and hangs the apron over the back of the door. 

Ben still wants to know what he said on the phone. But now he’ll never be able to ask.


	5. Chapter 5

Hux seems to like him. Like him enough to talk to him when drunk, and bring him supplies the next day. Enough to ask about his art, and actually pay attention to him.

Ben has... not been the most sociable of people, of late. It’s his own fault, but since he finished at college, he’s... just... been isolated. From being forcibly around large groups of people his own age, he’s gone to maybe knowing the names of his baristas. Maybe. 

It was one hell of a culture shock. Without the regular socialisation of school, or a desk-based job, he’d been increasingly isolated. It was all well and good having his old classmates on social media, but they were off having careers and/or children, and Ben... was... not.

He’d even entertained the notion of enlisting. Maybe join the Air Force? He was too tall, and he mostly wanted to follow Poe there, so if he couldn’t join them, then he’d be going into a complete unknown. Plus, his mother didn’t want him risking his life, and his father... yeah. Not the biggest supporter of state-sanctioned violence.

Ben doesn’t remember the last time anyone asked him about his art, the stuff he does for himself. Dad never ‘got’ it, and Mom was always interested just enough to be polite, but Ben’s naturally secretive self hadn’t wanted to open up to either of them. Probably Uncle Luke, on his last visit to town, had shown the most interest in him, and even that had felt... strained.

It feels oddly good for someone to want to know about his _art_. Not his work (which was always what it translated to for Mom and Dad), but the things he draws for himself. 

In fact, Ben pulls out his pens when Hux has left, and makes a little nest on his bed. Bringing over the lap tray, a bowl of snacks, a big bottle of soda and his warm, fuzzy slippers. (They’re okay _here_ , just not at Mom’s, and not where anyone can see.) 

He starts to draw quick panels, the Knight and the General together. Stark outlines, with only light hatching to suggest the monochromatic contrast between them. Hastily drawn speech bubbles, and he painstakingly inks in a conversation.

Kylo might be responsible for countless deaths, but Ben still wants to think he deserves love, deserves happiness. Maybe if the two of them could find some way to escape the gravity well of that mysterious Leader, they could...

Ben stares. The dialogue isn’t going how he wants it to. He’s not a _writer_ , but he’s trying! He pushes Kylo again, trying to get him to act personable and friendly. This world is in his head, so why won’t it do what he wants it to?

 _Talk to each other_. Damnit! Kylo’s crushing so hard the blush almost shows through his mask, and all he can do is snipe at Hux? Put him down? Argue?

No wonder he’s a virgin. 

Oh. Ben sits back, staring at the pages. Kylo’s more fucked up than he’d thought, isn’t he? There’s more stuff under the surface than he initially realised. He’s... never had any kind of meaningful, adult relationship, has he? Shit. Not that Ben is much better... a few college flings, and then his own right hand, or a fleshlight. But there’s ‘slightly awkward and not very active romantically’ and ‘I wrap myself in a fucking death shroud all day and don’t even take my mask off to make eye-contact and have been pining after someone for years who doesn’t even know what—‘

***

Kylo tilts his head. “Do you act like you do because you can’t see my face?”

“What?”

“My mask... because I rarely remove it.” Hux has seen him a grand total of three times without it on. 

“Why are you even asking me? It’s not like you’re going to change.”

Kylo ducks his head. Why did he ask? That stupid, pesky, weird little voice in the edge of his mind. _Ben_. He hates the name, hates everything he stands for. 

“We do not need to be... quite as... at odds as we are,” Kylo says, very, very carefully.

Hux narrows his eyes like he’s sizing him up, ready to pull his sidearm on him. Not that it would really do any good: Kylo could stop him from using it, if it came to it. “No, we don’t.”

“We... have enough enemies. We... could...”

“Co-operate?”

“Yes.” Force knows Kylo has enough people who want him dead.

“Are you being sincere, for once, or is this another attempt to attack me? To lull me into a false sense of security, and then mock me?”

Shit. How does he make Hux know? How can he convey his sincerity? That this is genuine? With a shaky breath, he releases the clasps around his face, and tucks his helmet under his arm. His fingers twitch with the need to touch his own nose, lips, hair... but he forces himself not to.

Struggles to meet the other’s gaze, so he can see how torn he really is. “I have precious few allies, and you... would be a formidable one.”

Because all he can word this in is terms of use and utility, not inter-personal needs. Mutual benefit, not... mutuality. 

Hux blinks rapidly, and his hands clasp behind his back. _At ease_. Not easy, but at ease. “Not having to fight you would increase my productivity.”

“I was thinking perhaps a little more than just not-fighting.”

“Let’s start small, shall we? We’re not going to be drinking buddies overnight, Ren.”

“Kylo.”

Hux flinches, and Kylo doesn’t know why. It’s meant nicely, and then he reaches to touch Hux’s mind to—

“ _What are you doing_?”

Shit. “I—

“You think you can just go into my head?”

To be honest, Kylo is surprised Hux can tell. And then, he wonders to himself why he’d never done it before. He knows that the minute he asks himself: he always respected the man too much. The only thing that changed was the insecurity suddenly outweighed that.

“Hux, I’m sorry, I was... I...” 

“You expect me to trust you, to work with you, when you’d violate my thoughts?”

“I didn’t know why you were angry with me.”

“Because you tried to—“

“ _Before_ that. When I asked you to use my name.”

Hux’s face goes white. “It’s none of your business.”

“Maybe not, but... I’ll ask. Why were you angry with me? I can’t... work with you if I can’t work out what I’m doing _wrong_. Other than the mind thing, which... I sort of did by accident.”

“That, right there, is a _huge_ red flag.”

Kylo knows. He’s annoyed plenty of people over the years, and part of his seclusion has been because of that. “I’m sorry. I wanted to get this right.”

“First, promise me you will _never_ do that again. Or you will do your _utmost_ to restrain yourself. Hasn’t the Leader been teaching you control?”

“He doesn’t mind some things, like... social niceties. If I act rude, it just keeps me more isolated.” Which is more honesty than he thought he was going to come out with, but now he can’t take it back.

“That... makes a certain amount of sense.” Hux is clearly re-assessing his internal prejudices, which is difficult to watch. “I was uncomfortable because usually, a first-name basis is mutual.”

“...and you don’t feel comfortable letting me use yours?”

“I don’t feel comfortable letting _anyone_ use mine. It’s nothing personal.”

“Well, if ‘Hux’ isn’t offensive to you, then I’m fine calling you that.”

Look at them, having a civil conversation. Opening up. Admitting things. Being polite and even vaguely vulnerable around one another. Kylo feels a little dizzy, but it’s good. 

“I would much prefer it.”

“I am sorry about... before. It happens more when I am... under pressure.”

“If it doesn’t happen again, then you don’t need to worry about it. I will... forgive it, this once.”

Kylo tries to smile, just a little, and is surprised to see an echoing (faint) expression on the General’s face. 

“I think I might be socialised-out for now,” he admits. “I am very rusty.”

“I can tell.” Hux’s lips flicker. “It was... obviously difficult for you, and I... appreciate the effort.”

Kylo pulls his helmet back on, and makes to leave as quickly as he can.

***

Mom goes through these periods. Ben doesn’t know what causes the flares of maternal instinct, whether it’s solely things in herself, or reacting to his own behaviour. It’s not like she has ever neglected him. Been difficult to track down, yes, but neglect... no, not really. 

So they’re sitting in her lounge, drinking hot chocolate because she still hasn’t really processed the fact he’s an adult who does drink coffee, even if she serves him wine at dinner. But as she puts little marshmallows on the hot chocolate, he isn’t going to ever turn it down.

“So... my new campaign manager...”

“Adrian.” It feels odd to call him that.

“Yes. He speaks very highly of you.”

“He does?” The fact she’s bringing this up means she suspects something. She invited him here, after all. 

“He plays his cards close to his chest, but I think he may have asked for my blessing.”

“...what, to fucking propose?” Okay, he tries to not swear in front of her, but the suggestion is just so damned _ludicrous_.

“No, dear, to approach you,” Leia replies, sitting back with her mug.

(Maybe she wants the excuse for the indulgence of sugar herself, now Ben thinks about it.)

“Because I’m some teenage princess?”

“Because of the potential for conflict of interest, and professional courtesy.”

That makes more sense. “Shouldn’t he maybe ask _me_ if I’m interested, first?”

“When it could cost him his job, don’t you think he’d want to know if it would cause friction, first?”

No. Ben would ask him out, and _then_ work out if it was allowed. And if Ben was important enough to Hux, surely he’d just fucking quit his job or something, right? He pokes a pink blob with his too-short nail, scowling.

“Sweetie?”

“I’m not... it...” He’s going to sound ungrateful, no matter what. “You know, it’s hard always coming second to you. To your career, to... duties, image... and now apparently your professional approval could make or break a date.”

“Honey...” Leia puts one hand on his knee. “I would never stand between you and happiness. Please know that. If you think he was too formal, or too... circumspect, then you should discuss that with him. But please don’t reject him out of hand if you are interested in him, over something as simple as asking his boss’ permission.”

“I don’t know if I _do_ want anything with him, but—it would be nice to be _asked_.”

“Perhaps he thinks he already has, and wanted to clear the air before he pursued it further?”

Well, there is also the conversation that Ben can’t remember. He goes pink when he thinks about it, and shoves a hand into his hair. “I don’t – I – I mean I’ve kissed guys, but...”

“Oh, Ben... you’ll know if it’s right for you. I kissed plenty of girls and boys before I kissed your father.”

“Mom!”

“What? It was the sixties.”

“You were a _kid_ in the sixties.”

“...I still kissed people. But not like _that_.”

She’s always been slightly too outrageous, and he grins. He’s seen pictures of her back then, and admittedly the seventies weren’t all that more sedate. 

“How did you know... I mean, could you tell, for sure?”

“I had girlfriends. _Real_ girlfriends, although we weren’t public about it. It was nice, and I enjoyed it, but I didn’t fall in love with them, and I guess that’s the difference. I loved them, but I wasn’t _in_ love with them.”

“So... how... how do I work out the difference?”

“You don’t need to, not straight away. He’s _not_ going to propose, not until you both know you’re happy together. If you think you might be interested in him, then what’s the harm in some dates? You’re not getting any younger, and a bit of fun might make you come out of your shell some.”

It’s still a bit weirdly like being set up with an arranged marriage, or date, at least, but he _has_ been flirting, hasn’t he? Pretty much from the start, when not acting like an asshole to push him away.

“If he asks me, I’ll... say yes.”

“Good boy,” Leia says, and air-kisses in his direction. “I like him. If you find you want to make it serious... maybe I’ll get grandkids after all.”

Ben snorts. “Yeah, but what if they’re his, and ginger?”

“Oh, don’t be silly, you can both give me one. I demand at least two,” she winks. 

First they have to like one another, though. Like, really like. Ben slurps at his hot chocolate, and fights a smile. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Major Character Death, injury, health problems, medical references.

Kylo announces his presence at the door a moment before entering. It’s not quite waiting to be invited in, but it’s definitely more considerate than he used to be. Some dumb part of him still feels the need to keep little bits of imperfection in, because to go from being a dick to being... polite... would be too much, too soon. 

Plus, it’s been so long that he’s forgotten a lot of the social niceties, or so it feels. 

Hux looks up, then nods at the seat across from him. He’s holed up in his slightly private office, away from the bridge, scrolling through reports and (unusually publicly, for him) sipping his mug of caf between sections. 

Kylo takes the seat, and pulls the pad to him. He’s volunteered to help with some of the strategic planning, but behind closed doors. This is their third session, and he’s actually... sort of enjoying it? It’s odd, but he does have a skill with reading situations, people, and tactics. He knows (alas) the Resistance mindset, and once Hux’s antagonism drops, he finds they actually work relatively well together.

No one could be more surprised by this turn of events than Kylo.

“We definitely need to look at either annexing, or leveraging those key resources faster than we need to finalise a location,” Kylo says, once he’s read the latest briefings.

“Indeed. I was wondering if, perhaps, you might... be amenable?”

“...to?”

“Persuasive visits. Either impressing upon people the importance of their support, or...”

Strong-arming, or even mind-controlling. Right.

Ironically, he did used to be quite the silver-tongued one, though it’s a talent he’s let slide. It’s also... not quite being ordered, but being asked, politely. If he said no, he’s sure Hux would respect that, and it’s not something he’s used to. He’s used to knowing that what he’s told to do, he does. 

Oddly, the freedom means he feels more inclined to comply. “I shall. I shall need a suitable convoy, to impress upon them our sincerity.”

Which is a not very subtle way of saying ‘terrify the living daylights out of them’. 

Hux smiles, nodding to acknowledge his agreement, and they continue to work for a while. It’s... nice.

***

Ben takes the empty mugs to put in the dishwasher, and nearly walks into Hux. Who is, apparently, working from Mom’s home today, which Mom completely failed to mention (and he is now wondering if this is part of Operation Convince My Boys To Date).

“Oh, hi Ben.”

“Hi H—uh, Adrian.”

“You know, it’s been a while since anyone tried to call me Hux, first and foremost.”

“Old habits.” 

Hux – Adrian – looks a little confused. “I don’t mind, though... were you military?”

“No.” Not in this galaxy “Thought about it. It’s...” 

“I don’t mind it, I just... wondered if it was because you wanted our relationship to remain purely professional?”

Is he trying to flirt, or gauge response? Because Ben is starting to think _Kylo_ has more skills at this. “It’s not meant as a barrier, and I... you’re an okay person, and... you know. If you wanted coffee, or something...?”

“I’d very much like that.”

“Okay then. We... we should go to the place near mine? Maybe?”

“Would you be free tomorrow, say... after four?”

“I’ll make sure I am.”

“Then I’ll see you there,” Hux says, with a tiny little nod.

Which means they’ve kind of agreed to go on a date, doesn’t it? Ben freezes for a moment, not sure if he should scream, or run to tell his mom, or... maybe just sedately walk out the front door and punch the air discreetly in front of him.

A date.

Holy shit.

***

Ben jolts back to reality when the phone rings, and he realises he’d been... daydreaming? Dozing? There’s papers scattered all over his drawing desk, and he has no memory of creating them. He’d gone into some kind of trance? 

He picks up the phone. “Hey?”

“Ben, it’s A—it’s Hux.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. I’m afraid... I’m sorry to tell you this. Your mother is in the hospital.”

“WHAT THE FUCK?”

“She’s stable, but she’s not very well. I don’t... I don’t know everything. I called a cab. It’ll be out front. I can stay on the line with you if you want...”

Ben’s grabbed his bag, his keys, and shoved his feet into unlaced sneakers before Hux has finished speaking. He takes the steps four at a time, and ducks to shove the laces into the shoes, knowing they can wait to be properly tied til later.

“Tell me what happened,” he insists. “Is she hurt? What... is she gonna be okay?”

“We think she had a heart attack. I was with her, and I called the ambulance. I’m sorry this is the first I could call you, I was talking to the paramedics and booking the cab, and I didn’t want to text you this, I thought... I thought over the phone...”

“Shit. _Shit_. Okay... there’s a cab, let me check...”

It’s for him, and it knows where it’s going, so he jumps in and apologises. The driver doesn’t object to him barely breaking the phone call, knowing precisely what’s going on.

“She was conscious, but not coherent. She didn’t fall. She’s in with the specialists right now. Your father is here as well.”

“Oh god, Hux... I can’t lose her.”

“I know. It’s going to be okay.”

“You can’t say that!” 

“I can.”

“Hux...” Fuck, he’s crying. “Make sure she’s okay. Please. Please.”

“She’s with the specialists. We got her here on time.”

Ben sniffles. “I’m... stay on the line with me. You don’t need to talk. I just need to know you will be here to tell me if—“

“She’s going to be okay.”

***

A pain, like a vice in the chest. Kylo sits up in bed, his fingers going to two places: above his heart, and where he... where he...

_The saber had gone right through. The smell of burned flesh and fabric, the tiny bit of piss that dribbled out of him. Out of..._

A face. A face older than he remembered, but also... precisely as he’d remembered. Lined, worn, but unmistakably his father.

Kylo Ren... had been Ben Organa-Solo. Ben was a distant memory, a dirty secret, but Han Solo had been a literal tie he had to sever.

He’d come so close. So close to letting him take the weapon, letting himself be guided home. Even through the echoes of _too much Vader_ and _Leia better be right about this Luke was always better at this than me_ and _I don’t know this kid I never did_ and _no wonder I fucked it up not like I know how to dad anyway_ and _remember him on your knee and his little fingers smearing over your cheeks and the way he would drool on Chewie’s shoulder and the way he looked up at you like you were some Force-damned hero and not how he looked when you couldn’t save him any more_...

So close. So close.

The Light... it never really died in him, no matter how hard he tried. He’d looked at his – his father – and he’d felt the pull so strongly, but then the light in the sky had gone, and he’d _known_ that Snoke had won. The weapon was about to fire. The Resistance base was about to go. Hope was gone. Darkness was all. His mother...

She was about to die. He’d known, and he’d known there was nothing left for him. The last things holding him back: his mother, his father. One was about to go, and he’d known Han would never forgive him for letting Leia die.

So he’d taken the only logical step, and tried to burn the heart out of himself, by taking the one in front of him. 

(And Hux... Hux would never leave... and Kylo wasn’t wholly sure he could ever leave him behind...)

And Han had died. And Leia had not. 

And Kylo had been left with a gaping, arterial wound that pulsed out his heart and never seemed to stop.

It hurts like that, now. It hurts like it hurt when his father...

He staggers to his feet and slams at the door panel, running out into the corridor.

***

Ben sees Hux outside the hospital, and he hangs up the phone. The cab’s already paid for, so he mumbles a thanks and runs right for the other man.

Runs, and is immediately grabbed in a hug. He doesn’t even think about it, just wraps his arms around him and buries his face in his shoulder. 

“We can go inside and find the consultant,” Hux says, one hand in his hair, the other around his shoulders.

“Please.”

***

Han looks pale, and Chewie is muttering darkly to himself as he paces up and down. There’s a woman who looks like she knows what she’s doing, and she greets them both when they arrive.

“I’m Doctor Kalonia. Leia is stable. She suffered a coronary, but we believe we caught it in time. She’s in surgery now, to widen the artery, and she’s going to need to take it easy for a while, after. She’ll be on medication for the rest of her life, and she’s going to need some rest.”

Rest. His mother. Rest.

“How long will the surgery take?” Ben asks.

“It depends on the complexity. We’ll keep her in for a few days after, too.”

“What are her chances?” Han asks, his voice gruff.

“Very, very good. There is always a risk, but we believe she’ll pull through.”

Ben feels a hand grip his, and he squeezes back, not looking at Hux. 

“Please rest assured that we have an excellent team working with her. Your wife and mother are in the best possible hands.”

***

It’s stupid, but Kylo is here – maskless – wavering on his doorstep. He – he doesn’t know where else to go.

The door opens to reveal a bleary-eyed Hux, who blinks at him from his pyjamas. His hands wrap around himself defensively, as he croaks: “Kylo?”

“...can... can I come in?”

“What’s h—uh, I... yes?”

Kylo ducks his head thankfully, storming in and starting to pace. He’s bare-footed and unmasked, wearing his own sleeping clothes, his hair worked half out of the sleeping tie he catches it in. He’s drenched with sweat from the nightmare, and this... this is not how you... this is not how you get someone to _like_ you...

“I’m sorry, I just... I didn’t have anyone else to talk to...”

“Kylo, could you sit down?”

“I... no. I’m...”

“Okay. Do you mind if I sit down?”

He shakes his head, and Hux goes to sit on his couch. Kylo continues to pace, wringing his hands. 

“I’m – I know I shouldn’t have woken you, and I know you probably just tolerate me, but – but you’re... you are what passes for the person I... I can’t tell anyone, and you... I...”

“I understand,” Hux says, his voice almost calm. 

“No, you don’t, but that’s okay. It’s...” Shit, his mind is whirling. “I had... a premonition, I think. A Force premonition. Or maybe I felt something happening, or maybe it was just a nightmare, but... I... it felt like... it felt like... my mother.”

Hux knows his family, right? He never said it aloud, but he has to know. He has to know the grandson of Darth Vader had a step in the middle. 

“You think she is dead, or... may die?”

He nods.

“And this... distresses you?”

Kylo looks to his bare feet, and wiggles his toes. He can smell medical chemicals, and he feels... cold. He feels... alone, when there’s echoes of a self who isn’t. 

“She... is still my mother. Even if... we don’t agree. There is... I couldn’t just... not-care...”

Hux smoothes his pants over his knee, obsessively, over and over. “But you killed Solo.”

“That was hard, too.”

“Does this mean you... are you trying to tell me you are going to... betray the Order?”

“ _No_.” Well. Maybe. The _Order_ , but not... “Hux, I’m not about to run back to the Resistance, but it... it still hurts.”

“And if I suggested this was a ploy by them?”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

“And if she _did_ – stars... forbid... and I can’t believe I’m thinking it’s better that she _doesn’t_ – if she did die?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you want me to... give you permission to... do something?”

To feel. To hurt. To want her safe. Kylo sways, and then crushes his hands so hard into his face that his eyeballs ache. “I’m not going to leave,” he whispers, “...but it’s going to be hard.”

“I... can’t say I fully understand your emotional response, or situation, but... I... can try to empathise, I suppose? It can’t be easy for you, to be so at odds with the people who... raised you.”

Anger howls through him, anger and helplessness, and Kylo pushes his fingers into his hair, pulling it until it _burns_ in his grip. His scalp fighting to hold on, his hands wanting the pain to spark higher. 

“I don’t want to go back. I... it would... being... accepted... might be... it would...” Oh, it’s so complicated. 

“You wish they would still love you, and you crave the... approval and intimacy, but your... differences are irreconcilable? But that... doesn’t stop you wanting something, even though you logically know it’s unattainable?”

Kylo turns, and he sees... something. Something in Hux’s eyes. Some form of understanding, and... compassion. “You don’t... hate me for wanting it?”

“It does disturb me on one level, because of how repugnant I find your family, but... I have... longed for acceptance at times, too. I can... imagine myself in your situation, but not your... specifics.”

“Does it mean I’m... broken? To feel that pull? To... to the Light?”

“I don’t know enough about the Force to say anything about the Light, or the Dark, but... I know we have conflicting responses to things. What matters is how we act, not how we feel.”

And yet, for Kylo, feeling is so impossibly intense that ignoring it, at times, is impossible. And – according to the Leader – his very depth of emotional response is the source of his power. 

Sometimes he wishes he was much, much weaker. Maybe he’d feel better.

Kylo wants to thank him, but he also doesn’t want to embarrass the man any further than he has. He drops his hands, and takes a deep breath. “I should let you sleep.”

“Have you said everything you feel you need to?”

For now, he thinks, maybe he has. “Yes. I... am grateful.”

“I may not be the most... emotionally open of people, so I realise I may not be the best to respond to such incidents, but I also... acknowledge you do not really have anyone better placed than me. If... you wish to do this again, I am... prepared to assist however I can.”

“I... would also like to... return the favour, if you... if I can ever... in any way you want...”

“Thank you,” Hux says. “Do you need a moment to gather yourself?”

“I think... I think I’ll be okay,” Kylo replies. The rage is gone, and he’s... cold, but not numb. Like when you’ve been outside in a storm and the room is warming you slowly. The urgency has passed, and he didn’t do anything stupid. 

“I think you will, too.” 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also look at this [lovely art](http://sithofren.tumblr.com/post/161269945045/m-oarts-alright-this-is-another-gift) a very kind anon commissioned for this story!

Ben refuses to leave the hospital, curled up with his too-long legs onto a plastic, unwelcoming seat. His neck is locked from the position, even with his coat bundled under his head as a pillow, and when he creaks his eyes open he feels like _shit_.

He has no idea why he thinks Kylo killed his father. Sure, Ben has his issues with his dad, but he’d never do – that. He’s not a murderer. Until recently, Kylo’s family had been a mystery to him. There’d been the awareness of the war, of the distant, hated Jedi... the echoes of a shadow of a memory of a grandfather he’d never met in person...

But Kylo’s past had been as shrouded as his face and body were from the world. Deep devotion and power, but a man apart from the world. The kind of character that rose, originless, like picking up a comic run half-way through and missing out on the setup, or the flashbacks, or the ‘first this, then—‘ sections. 

Ben had been pretty sure the character was, at best, an anti-hero, but there was something... unshakeably dark about patricide that made him feel nauseous. Had he killed his father already, and Ben hadn’t known? Or had the scare over his mother been what did it for him? Was it some sense of internalised guilt about something that made his weird, fantasy-self lash out and kill his father?

Han is older, but he’s just as determined to stay. Only thing is, he’s outside in his pickup truck, sleeping where he can at least lie down. Ben is glad, because he’s not sure he can look at his father’s face without seeing the echoed memories of it gripped by pain and the realisation of death.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

Ben tries to straighten out, watching Hux come back with two machine-generated coffees in disposable cups. He didn’t need to stay last night, but he did. Ben’s glad, because he might have gone insane if he hadn’t. They’d grabbed hands, unspeaking, and dozed alternately off in this waiting area. Brief updates through the night kept them from worrying too much, and Ben just...

He can’t think it through. Whenever he thinks he got somewhere, his mind just sort of hits a wall and stops, dead, like in a cartoon. Ben takes the cup of scaldingly hot coffee, and pulls it in as he tries to ignore the very, very real pains his body is complaining about.

“No news?” Hux asks. 

“No.”

“The visiting hours are much later, but the full shift should kick in, soon. We should be able to get an update, then. Maybe they’ll let us in.”

“I guess I should call Dad and Chewie... they’ll want to come in, too.” 

“I can do it, if you want to run to the bathroom?” Hux offers.

“You’ve already done more than enough,” Ben insists, and finds his hand again. It’s... familiar to hold it, now, and even if they _don’t_ hit it off dating, he’s... he’s glad Hux is around, in his life. 

“Your mother is very important to me, and not just for my career, Ben.”

“That’s why she’s trying to matchmake us,” he replies, walking past him so he doesn’t see the reaction. He hopes it’s good.

***

In the morning, Kylo is back to pretending everything is fine. 

Or. Trying to. 

He has his mask off, and he’s looking into the mirror. _Really_ looking into the mirror, even though his attention wants to wander. He’s so used to his mask ‘being’ him, so used to the lines and flat planes being how he sees himself, that he’d almost forgotten who he was below.

Though it’s painful, he forces himself to acknowledge the reflection as _him_. 

The ears, nose, lips... they’re all... dialled up. As if someone on a character creation screen had slipped to the edges, just to see what it looked like, and then decided to work with it. He pulls his lips into his mouth, trying to minimise the profile. His ears he can do nothing but let his hair fall over, and his nose... that’s just a fact of nature. 

He remembers – distantly – the chants and echoes of unkind children. The insults, the comparisons to wild animals, the... shoving, punching, kicking. The anger. 

He tries to forget.

The next thing he sees is his parents. The way his lip curls like his father’s, the way his eyes flinch like his mother’s. He can see them combined within him, and he wonders how long he’s pretended they weren’t part of his past, part of who he _was_. They aren’t part of his life _now_ , but they created him, shaped him, and released him to the galaxy.

Kylo tilts his head, letting his hair obscure his vision, wondering if anyone would even work out who he was if he didn’t wear his mask. If he walked out into the ship, and he let people see him. Would they recognise the General of the Resistance, and the smuggler-hero pilot? Would they see the adopted daughter of a long-lost planet, and the orphan son of questionable lineage? Or would they just keep walking past another Human male?

Han Solo is dead. He has one parent left.

He doesn’t believe in the Jedi. He doesn’t... he doesn’t really know what he does believe in. Not truly. 

Kylo puts the mask back on, and tries to forget again.

***

“I’m not _dying_ ,” Leia snaps. “You can get me grapes. Fermented grapes.”

“You are in hospital, Mom, you’re not allowed wine.”

“It’s a fruit.”

“You know wine and work is what put you in that bed?”

His mother rolls her eyes, obviously hating her predicament. Ben can understand: she’s never been able to let go, or step back. He doesn’t even remember her doing more than croak a few times past a sore throat, or stride out with her body falling apart and none of it showing on her face. 

She’s always been... strong. Impossibly strong. Seeing her like this, wrapped in starchy sheets, the familiar jug of water on the bedside table, her face wiped clean of all her daytime ephemera... it’s unsettling. She’s aged at least a decade, overnight.

“Have you cancelled my arrangements?” she asks Hux, instead, ignoring her son. 

Han and Chewie have already been and gone, leaving just the two of them lingering. Ben knows he should go home and grab a shower, but he also doesn’t _want_ to because then no one would be here, with her. 

“Yes. I’ve also put an update on your social media accounts.”

“I didn’t authorise that.”

“No, but your next of kin would have.”

“Adrian—“

Ben smiles, and catches Hux’s eye. Hux, of course, hadn’t asked for permission. Everyone had been far too busy worried about her survival, whilst he’d taken care of all the less urgent, but still important, things. 

“Your sudden disappearance from events needed to be explained, and this will – believe it or not – play well for you.”

“Sick politicians are not popular politicians.”

“No, but lying politicians are even less popular. You can talk about this in your campaign, down the line. You can talk about how hard it is to balance your own health, and the demands of work. Considering most of your supporters are in need of social care funding, and working two or more jobs to survive, you will _definitely_ score points for this.”

“I’m not a pity party.”

“I’m not suggesting we run one.”

“Ben, can you—“

Ben shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I agree with him on this. You _do_ work yourself too hard, but you can let people know you were doing that because you _care_. And they’ll empathise with you. You should see the amount of love pouring out for you, already.”

“My health shouldn’t be used to score _points_.”

“It’s a fact of life,” Hux argues. “It’s not as if you deliberately got sick to win support. People _do_ fall ill. And you – having experienced the shock of such an ordeal – you can show how it’s affected you, and how you’re going to use the information.”

“I still don’t like making my campaign about _me_.”

“Mom, it _is_ about you. It’s about what you think, believe, feel, and fear. It’s about how you can make people’s lives better, and why you _want_ to,” Ben argues. He doesn’t often weigh in too heavily on the political part of his mother’s life, but right now... right now he thinks he should. “You’re a good person. You’re not doing this to capitalise. You’re doing it because – like anyone – things that happen to you influence your thoughts and decisions.”

There’s a pause, and then a worn hand lifts up, cupping his cheek. His mother’s eyes are soft, almost on the brink of tears. She doesn’t say anything, but he leans in and presses his forehead to hers.

He knows she’s understood.

***

Kylo walks out of the ‘negotiating’ room feeling... drained. That was more involved discussion than he’s had to do with anyone other than Hux in probably twenty years. Even his Knights – even the _Leader_ – don’t speak so much, at such length, in such depth. Not with him.

He could have just ripped into their minds, but he hadn’t wanted to. Instead, the threat that he might do it had hung over the table, colouring their words, their tones, their body-language. He’d argued for the deal (in the loosest possible use of the word), and come out with everything he’d gone in for. 

But it had been _hard_. So hard. His head pounded, and he was sure the troopers’ disbelief would drive him crazy before he got back to the _Finalizer_. 

All the way through, he’d remembered another voice. A voice that had called out through the Force to him, and that curbed his tongue from going as far as it wanted to.

He tries to forget the sound as he gets back to his room.

He doesn’t want to hear his mother’s opinions. Not on this, or on anything he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I'm slow, RL has been very unkind.


	8. Chapter 8

Mom’s at home. She’s set up camp in her bedroom (which Dad has been kicked out of), amidst a nest of pillows and easy access fruit and fluids and laptop and phone. Although Hux agrees with him that it’s maybe not the most stress-free of environments, but she’ll fret herself worse if she’s completely removed from her work. 

With set limits, and set times, they can mitigate the worst of the risk. Dad and Chewie are currently on babysitting duties, after the first few shifts spent on a rota. 

Ben had started to think he’d never get H-- Adrian alone for any length of time away from the house, but now they’ve managed to schedule it so they’re both not too sleep deprived, and only minorly twitching towards their phones to make sure Leia Organa doesn’t end up hospitalised a second time this month.

Now they’re in the coffee shop, and it’s a million miles from the first time. Ben wonders what Adrian thinks about their first meeting, or if he even remembers it at all. He orders his usual, and Adrian’s, and they perch in the window seats on the tall stools, staring at the people passing by. 

“I did expect our coffee date to come after less drama,” his companion says. “But it wouldn’t be an Organa-Solo affair without it, would it?”

“No, you _have_ met my parents, remember?”

“Yes, it seems we’re doing this a little backwards, although I suppose it means you have their seal of approval already, and don’t have to worry I’ll be put off when I meet them.”

“...so, you aren’t?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“It could just be politeness,” Ben demurs, “...or not wanting to upset Mom when she’s sick.”

“I’d like to think you would credit me with more personal integrity than that.”

His tone is lighter than his words, but Ben feels them sharply. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit rusty on the whole... dating game, and I... uh. Haven’t dated anyone who worked for my parents before.”

“I haven’t dated anyone related to my boss before, either.” His tone is a little conciliatory, then. “It’s new ground for us both.”

“Is it going to make your job too difficult?”

“Hard to say. I think... so long as we’re mature and adult about it, then it should be fine. I don’t really ‘do’ relationship drama. Actually, I don’t normally do relationships. I’m usually too busy with my job. That... could be our major source of friction.”

“You being busy?”

“Yes, and... you possibly feeling envious of time I spend with your mother.”

“Hey, she’s my _mom_. I think I’m used to how it feels when people you care about have careers that make them inaccessible.” 

“Point.” Adrian’s long fingers tap his silver spoon to the side of his cup, then place it down on the saucer. “I would still prefer you discuss it with me, though. If it starts to feel too much.”

“...okay.” Ben has no idea how he will feel, but he supposes the fact they’re already negotiating is a good sign? Or is it weird to be setting ground rules on your first date? Considering his family history of politics, he should probably have expected a pre-nup before the _dating_. 

“With that aside... I’d like to know more about you.”

Ben fusses with the sleeve of his shirt. “Mom hasn’t told you every last embarrassing baby story?”

“...some, but that’s not the you I’m interested in. I’m interested in the you, now. I know you’ve got political beliefs, I know you’re into art, and coffee, and... men. But who are ‘you’, Ben? What... what makes you tick?”

“I often ask myself the same question,” he replies, honestly. What does make him ‘tick’? He has his art, and... and... “I guess I’ve just been coasting,” he admits. “Since college... I haven’t really known what I want, or what I want to _do_.” Or be. Or have. Or anything. 

“You... don’t have a goal?”

“It’s hard, with art.” He’s never really talked about this aloud before, and not had to formulate the thoughts into words. “With sports, or with politics, there’s concrete achievements. Wins. Medals. Positions. But with art... even if I could get my style to how I wanted it, what then? Do I want to sell it? Do I want to be famous?”

“I guess you have to work out why you make the art in the first place.”

“Not for money. I mean, maybe it’s because I have enough of a safety net with my folks. Maybe if I was starving, I’d know that money was the ultimate goal. But I’m not. I just...” Why does he draw? Why does he paint?

“You cover your basic necessities, but you... I’m probably reaching.” Adrian looks a little embarrassed himself, nursing his latte. 

“It’s okay. I feel... I feel like there’s something in me, something I want to get out. I like to paint and draw when it’s something I want to master, but it’s more than that. I feel like there’s something... _in_ me, and I – I – it needs out? Not even to be famous, or rich, but because it... because it is burning a hole inside of me, I— _fuck_ , I don’t know, Hux.”

“It makes you happy to draw?”

“It also makes me freaking mad as all hell when the pictures inside my head aren’t as good as what comes out. I guess... I guess it’s a compulsion, as much as a pleasure.”

“You know... those tangible goals you spoke about? I don’t think they really exist, not truly. I could get your mother elected as President of the United States, and I still could think I hadn’t done a good enough job.”

Hmm. It’s true that whatever goal his mother set for herself, she’d be restless shortly after accomplishing it. He’d always assumed that was because she was getting there step by step, and that one day there would be an end-point. 

“I don’t normally talk such deep philosophy on a first date,” Adrian says, looking a little shifty. “Although it’s been so long that I can’t really talk about my ‘usual’ methods.”

“It’s good. I... I think I need to talk about this stuff,” Ben admits. “And I think maybe you do, too, or you wouldn’t have asked me.”

“You don’t think I’m utterly bizarre?”

Ben pulls a pen out of his pocket (he has several pens, in several pockets) and pushes it, with a napkin, right at him. “Draw me something.”

“...what?”

“Anything. Draw me something.”

“Ben, be serious, I can’t—okay, fine.” 

Hux’s hand hovers over the napkin for a moment, before it comes resolutely down. Practiced lines of something childish and drawn long ago, but apparently memorised. A cartoon version of a cat, a little lopsided and with uneven line thickness, but completely recogniseable.

“Don’t laugh at it.”

“I won’t,” Ben promises, picking it up. “You have one?”

“Had. When I was younger.”

“You used to draw him or her?”

“...when we were asked to draw our family, yes. I drew the rest of us, but I always drew her bigger than she should have been.”

He could likely psychoanalyse the shit out of it, but it could also be that cats were easier to draw. Ben smiles, and puts it in his pocket. “I’ll draw you a cat in return.”

“You’re taking my picture hostage?” His eyes sparkle with amusement. 

“It’s mine, now, but I’ll draw you one in return. I... used to like drawing gifts, but it gets a bit difficult, when you’ve filled your mom’s fridge with pictures.”

Adrian’s forearms lean on the table, and he peers out at the street. “I was... not very good at artistic things, and it wasn’t encouraged, either. I was directed towards the persuasive arts. My parents had high hopes that I’d be a barrister – an attorney – and I pretty much burned all my bridges when I went into political advocacy and campaign management. They wanted me to be the throne, not the power beside it.”

“Do you have any regrets?”

“No. Well, I regret that they didn’t support my choices. I wasn’t made to be the person at the top of the pile, though... I’d rather talk strategy than work with the American cult of the personality. Not to mention, being an immigrant...”

“You’re _English_ , though, right?”

“British.”

“...there’s a difference?” He cocks his head curiously.

“Very many differences, and if we’re talking _originally_ , I’m Irish. And we relocated to England, which is in Great Britain.”

“But Ireland isn’t?”

“Ireland is Ireland. Northern Ireland is part of...” He holds his hand out. “May I?”

Ben holds the pen back out, and is treated to two blobs of land that look vaguely familiar. One is cut into three, the other into two. Labels for England, Scotland, Wales, Northern Ireland, and the Republic of Ireland. Then come some circles.

“This is the British Isles...” around the biggest island. “And add in this bit of Ireland, and you have the United Kingdom of Britain and Northern Ireland...”

“Okay...”

“I come from this bit,” he points. “So I’m Irish. But we moved to England, and nationalised. But as we’re not really ‘English’, we prefer ‘British’, as... it’s easier.”

“So do you have the accent?”

Adrian freezes. “...yes.”

“...so...?”

“You’ll laugh.”

“I won’t!”

He does, but Adrian doesn’t mind. 

***

Kylo isn’t sure why Hux’s approval means so much, but maybe it’s just that he gets none from anywhere else. The respect from his Knights is tinged with fear, wariness, and honed ambition. The Leader – he is another matter altogether. 

Hux is different. Kylo’s always felt this... pull towards him, even before his ridiculous waking daydream self started to self-insert romance a version of him. 

It had only made his own lingering interest all the stronger. 

The report he delivers in person, on a datapad. He could just have comm’d it over, but that... that would mean he couldn’t see Hux’s slight smile of approval at his efforts. Couldn’t see the look of surprise and contentment, and bask in the shreds of appreciation. 

“You did a wonderful job,” Hux says, and doesn’t even sound all that insincere. 

“Threatening people is my forte.”

“You were more tactful than waving a Star Destroyer at them, though,” Hux corrects him. “I’m... yes. This is a cause for... celebration.”

He says the word a little too lightly, clearly testing the waters, seeing if Kylo treats it as just a generic statement, or as an offer. 

“I have some Corellian brandy,” Kylo suggests. “If it’s to your liking.”

“One of the few good things to come from Corellia, but yes, I do.”

Kylo swallows hard. They’re... they’re going to drink. Together. He’s been drinking brandy since way before his mother thought it was a good idea (admittedly in small amounts), but he’s not had much reason to drink to excess in a very long time. He hopes he doesn’t make a fool out of himself. Oh, that would just be the kicker if he did. 


	9. Chapter 9

Kylo is going to make a fool of himself, isn’t he? He’s not had a real drink in years, and Hux is probably one of those people who can put away a full bottle, even though he’s built like a streak of piss. He’s going to outpace Kylo, whose constitution and metabolism should make him nigh-on indestructible, even before the Force...

He’s in Hux’s private quarters again. Still so neat, in most places, though he’s fairly sure he saw a glimmer of a mess through a door that was hastily shut. Not that it really matters, does it? Or does Hux think that Kylo seeing through the layers would be... dangerous, somehow? 

His helmet sits on the table off to one side, and Kylo creaks onto one of the couches. This one is noticeably more unused than the other, looking almost as if it had never been used since being brought to the room. Perhaps that’s true. 

It’s a good few minutes before he realises that Hux is... nervous. He’d been so caught up in his own head, in his own fears, that he’d forgotten Hux might be anything other than entirely smooth, suave, and prepared. But there he is, pouring out two glasses with hands that take a little longer than he should. 

Was this an imposition?

“You... do want... to celebrate?” Kylo asks, unsure.

“Am I not looking suitably celebratory?”

“It’s not that, I... imposed this.”

“You did,” Hux admits, “...but if you hadn’t, we wouldn’t be here. I... am not very good at... initiating private occasions.”

Oh. Kylo thinks about that. Actually _thinks_. And then he realises... he’s been more inside his own head than he’d ever considered. Of _course_ Hux doesn’t socialise, much. He’s the military leader of a force that believes in the power of chain of command absolutely. He has no peers, not aboard the ship, and anyone and everyone is a potential future superior, current inferior, or a threat in some way. 

Of course Hux doesn’t socialise much. 

Why did he never think about Hux’s life, his... experiences? He’d been selfish, and that hurts a bit to realise. 

“I must say, it’s been the same for me. It’s... difficult.”

“Even more difficult when you won’t even _look_ people in the eye, I assume?”

Kylo winces. “That is... the Leader... has regulations. It is why I never remove the mask in public.”

“Ah.”

Ah. Kylo wants to strangle him, but also spill everything. He wants to demand he understands, and he wants to ask him... _everything_. But it could be weird. It could be weird to go from... antagonism to suddenly wanting to bond, right?

Down goes the drink. 

“I – I would...” Fuck. “I would... like to get better. At... private occasions,” Kylo announces.

“I assumed as much,” Hux replies, smiling into his glass, trying to hide the expression. “You’ve suddenly become co-operative, and personable, and... open to compromise. I assumed you were either attempting to lull me into a false sense of security, or—“

“I want to...” Shit, damn, fuck. “It isn’t a trick.”

“If it was, I assume you’d be much slicker at it.” Down goes the glass, and his hands lace above one knee. “Kylo – may I call you that? I’ve welcomed you into my... personal sphere. It was a risk, but...” He shrugs. “I thought it was worth the risk.”

Kylo doesn’t think he’d ever want to try manipulate someone into ‘liking’ him for his own ends. If anything, he’s been too busy pushing people away for so long. If they actually liked a fake him, it would be crushing, weirdly. And they’re both useless at this, so that’s a reassurance. 

“Your company is enjoyable.” Snoke never gave lessons in socialising, and Kylo’s tried to forget before Snoke. “I... I would... I am...”

Hux actually snorts. It’s a tiny, little noise, but it’s the most genuine expression of emotion Kylo has heard from him, and it startles him. 

“I’m sorry,” Hux demurs, and sounds like he means it. 

“You shouldn’t be. I’m... I was never a charming person, even as a child. Too distant, too brooding.”

“You?” Hux clucks his tongue. “I can’t _possibly_ believe that.”

Kylo feels something unknot a little. “Yes... always lost in his own mind. Too intense, too... mature for his own age.” It’s very odd to talk about his past like this, but it’s also a relief. 

“I understand that. I... was very driven. I had a career plan before I was even old enough to drink,” Hux replies, nodding at his now-empty glass. “I wanted to achieve something, to... _be_ someone. I wanted... that, before the Order. Selfish, I suppose.”

“Wanting things for yourself isn’t selfish, Hux.”

“...perhaps, but it means my ideology is tainted by personal vainglory.”

Vainglory. What a word. Kylo tries to calm himself, but there’s a sudden flurry inside. “You’re _allowed_ to want things, Hux. You’re allowed to want to be powerful, or famous, or loved. You can also believe in a cause, but – but want people to _appreciate_ you.”

Hux’s tone gets oddly sharp of a sudden. “Are you trying to convince yourself, or me, Darth Ren?”  

“Maybe both! I don’t know. I just know that... it’s not all about the Order, or the Force. It’s... we still matter, don’t we? Not just who wins a war, but... us being happy...” 

It does matter. It does. 

Hux sits a little taller. “Perhaps we should not drink. I’ve never been particularly good at it, and if we’re like this after one glass—“

Damnit, they are supposed to be having a good time. Kylo wonders if he’s doomed to fuck everything in his life up, or... “You matter, is why I’m... angry. You’re not just a General. I’m not just a Knight. My... family... has been systematically thrust into the middle of every fight for the last however many decades. It didn’t make any of them happy.”

“And yet, here you are.”

“I’m here because I have to be. The galaxy didn’t give me much of a choice. I’d be here, or I’d be there. That’s... that’s simply the price I pay for the blood in my veins.” He’d never escape, no matter what ideology he attached himself to. Kylo was a Force-user. Son of Leia, grandson of Vader. That’s just... who he was. Even hiding out on a desert planet hadn’t saved Luke from destiny. 

“You don’t sound so sold on the fight.”

“I can... want things for myself, too. It’s not like you have to stop existing, just because you’re a key figure in a war, Hux. Why do we fight, if not for the lives we want to live?” Why couldn’t he just be an artist, painting pictures of a man he dreamed about kissing?

“Kylo, I’m... I’m not sure what you want from me. I understand you feel isolated, but—“

“Hux...” Damnit. He pushes his fingers into his palms, hard. “I... enjoy your company. I know I am not very good at giving my own, but... I enjoy your company, and I... would like to... continue to enjoy it. I respect you. I haven’t been the most gracious of colleagues in the past...”

So much honesty. He’s terrified by it, and somehow elated, too. Saying things. Saying them and not being afraid to say them.

Before Hux can say any more, Kylo continues: “We neither of us have much choice in who we _can_ associate with, but I would like to reassure you that... I would still choose you. You are intelligent, fierce, dedicated... you’re remarkable, and without the Force, I’m sure I could never accomplish what you have.”

“...that... is... possibly the nicest thing anyone’s said to me, barring my academy instructors.” His pale eyes are blinking, his paler cheeks almost drained. Weird. Kylo would have thought he’d flush, not drain. 

“Then everyone else is stupid, because... it’s true.”

“And your change of mind came about... how?”

“I always knew you were impressive. Didn’t you think that’s why I hated you? You got where you did with your own power, not... not because of who your family was, or the Force.”

“In spite of.” It’s sharp, but the pain isn’t from Kylo. Hux has never spoken really about his own childhood, it had been one of those taboo subjects. “You... envied me?”

Kylo nods. It’s sending shocks of emotion through him, his nerves turned to Force-lightning, his hair prickling, tingling all down his spine like shudders of hot cold. 

“...and... I assume you know I... not so much envied, as resented your... opportunities.”

“I had gathered as much.”

“I would like to modify that, now, or... explain how it’s altered, in my mind. I did resent the ease with which your world seemed to alter to suit you, but... you have had your own battles, haven’t you?”

It seems wrong to complain, when he has the Force. When he’s powerful, and strong. When he’s... ‘special’. But it’s as much a bane as it is a boon, and Kylo’s head drops, slightly. “It is not all good.”

“It was very... brave of you, to initiate this... relationship.” Hux is changing the subject, but also not. “And there is something else I must feel envy about.”

“Or... you could just be happy. Now we have this understanding, this...” He tucks his hair behind his ear. “I am afraid to ask, in case... in case it... ruins what we already have.” 

Because that would be perfect. Admit he’s got this strange crush, and disgust Hux, or forever pine after him? If he never asks, then he’s never turned down. But if he doesn’t ask, he’ll always wonder... and if it fails, he’ll have to work with a man who knows he wants him, who doesn’t want him back. 

“What if I promise I’ll not hold anything against you?” Hux’s lips pull in tighter. 

Kylo shouldn’t. He shouldn’t. They aren’t drunk enough to really excuse this, and Hux can _say_ he won’t hold it against him, but it doesn’t mean he’ll be able to do that, if he...

“What if I want you to?”

Hux snorts. “You said you weren’t any good at this.”

“Well, I’m trying. I’d like some feedback, to—“

Kylo is surprised when Hux leans sideways on his own couch, and he has to force himself not to pull away. People _don’t_ come close, unless they’re attacking him. There’s a sudden static charge in the air, and then there’s soft, slightly chewed lips pushed against his.

He hasn’t kissed, or been kissed, before. He has no idea if Hux has, but he takes the very light, careful touches to his mouth with a smile that almost aches, and he realises his eyes are shut when it stops. He opens his eyes, and tilts his head lightly, watching the General’s expression. 

“I’ll give you feedback on your flirtation skills, if you’ll—“

“I need more data to make a full report.” Kylo slides a palm over Hux’s cheek, around to the back of his head, and he leans in to take his own turn at kissing. It’s so very soft, and warm, and good. He can hear Hux’s breathing between, a slight nasal wheeze, and the hand that grips at his forearm is a steadying point. 

The kiss breaks, and Kylo doesn’t pull back. 

“That was cheating,” Hux teases. 

“It was an oral report.”

“If you keep that up I’ll demand more detailed statistics.”

“ _Gladly_.”

***

Ben shuffles in the cab, as they’re driven back to his place. They just _had_ coffee, so it’s not even like it’s... like it’s an easy excuse. And Adrian has been _all_ through – almost all through – his place, so it’s perfectly normal to grab a pizza and take him back for a movie.

It’s probably less normal to spend the entire journey incredibly aware of the way the car vibrates below, or be stuck in some kind of horrific waking nightmare-dream about making out with your apparently-now-boyfriend’s fictional alter ego.

The pizza box hides a multitude of sins. He’s not sure how he’s going to hide the boner when they stand up, though. It’s... not it’s not like the jeans will cover over much. 

Kylo had to pick today, didn’t he? 

“You decided on a movie, yet?” Adrian asks.

“...uhm... no?”

“You still have DVDs?”

“Some.”

“I’ll have a look at your shelves, before we hit the box. Sound good?”

Anything sounds good right now. Anything. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you would like to support me with a coffee or two I would be delighted. (But absolutely no pressure.)
> 
> https://ko-fi.com/A3887O2

Ben offers to open up the door while Adrian pays for the cab, and he wills his dick to behave as he pushes the key into the lock. Seriously. Kylo chooses _now_ to get with the making out? It’s ridiculous, unless it’s also Ben’s wish-fulfilment, in which case _he_ is ridiculous.  

The pizza hovers, hand resting on his belt, and he walks into the small lobby. Into the kitchen, where he puts the box down and grabs the paper napkins, and a bottle of soda, and walks back out to see Adrian has flicked on the screen and has a pile of DVDs on the coffee table, ready for review. 

At which point, his curiosity gets the better of him, and he puts down the snacks and peers over at the pile he’s picked.

“...you seriously picked up _The Lion King_?” 

“You own it,” Adrian points out. “And you draw.”

“Yeah, but... I had it back from being a kid.” He looks at the other movies he’s picked up. Some old school sci-fi (wow, he’s a closet nerd and a half), and comedy, but it’s the animated lions that really sticks out. The selection says a lot, and he wonders if that was some kind of subconscious choice? Or if it’s literally not that complicated, and it’s just a bunch of movies he’d like to watch?

Either he’s been around his mother too long, or... nope. Definitely his mother. She would read between the lines _between_ the lines, and that... not-quite paranoia had definitely coloured the way Ben looks at the world. 

“It’s still a good movie, but if you think you’re too old... I just haven’t seen it in forever, and I don’t have to focus too much, and I thought you might have some input, some... further information about the process...”

Ben grins, and picks it up. “I love it. Some of the best songs ever, but if I cry about Mufasa, it’s your fault.”

“I’ll probably be grabbing both of us tissues. Although... I haven’t cried at a movie in years.”

“...years?”

“...okay. The _Star Trek_ reboot.”

“Even though you knew he was coming back?”

“Even though.”

***

Ben can remember drawing lots of little lion cubs when he was younger, shortly after the movie. His own style was never Disney enough to really be Disney, but it had definitely been good practice. He wonders if he’d be better at emulating the house-style now, or if his own style would still affect his doodles.

Maybe that’s how he’ll recreate Hux’s kitten picture. Something that means something to them both, a shared experience...

The pizza is bitten down to a few scraggly ends that are a bit too hard, the soda bottle is almost empty, and Ben is feeling nicely full. He only cried a little bit at Mufasa(and that might be linked to the almost-loss of his mother, and the... other-self loss of his father), but it had been nice to cry and be cuddled through it, by someone who was equally misty-eyed. 

And now they’re snuggled up. Shoes off, feet tucked up, both of them cuddling on the couch. Ben’s got an arm around the back of the couch, and Adrian is leaning against him, making quiet sounds of contentment. 

“Are we old?” he asks.

“Why are you asking that?”

“...our first date was coffee, followed by a movie from the nineties, and now we’re cuddling. Either we’re kids, or we’re... old.”

Ben snorts. “You upset I didn’t take you to a posh restaurant or make out with you on the back row of a movie theatre?”

“Well, both of those options sound _good_ , but it wasn’t a complaint. It’s... nice. I haven’t been on the market for a boyfriend in a while, but we already know one another...”

He turns his head, cautiously, lifting his chin and pushing his lips close to the shell of Adrian’s ear. He can feel the flicker of interest, and he drifts the kiss up towards his hairline. “I can still take you out for nice meals. Or make out with you in a theatre. But you already met my folks, and I know your secret taste in kids’ movies now.”

“My secret shame,” Adrian complains. “However will I recover from this political scandal?”

“You could always bribe me.”

“Bribe you?” Adrian pushes him, playfully. “I’m not that depraved!”

“I was thinking hush kisses, not hush money.” Okay, so maybe Kylo’s success has made him brave, but he _did_ say he liked the idea of said kisses, so Ben thinks he’s probably not pushing too hard, here. 

“I don’t sell my body, Ben.”

“What about rent-to-buy?”

That gets him a cushion in the face, and he laughs, pushing his hair back from his face. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”

“You better be!” Adrian’s furthest foot bends up and under him, and he scoots himself sideways on the couch.  

“Okay, I apologise... I didn’t mean to impugn your honour.”

“Good.” A wry little lift of his head. “My kisses come free, but only for people who deserve them.”

This is when he should tell him about the crazy other version of him, isn’t it? It is. What if he finds out some other time? What if... what if he finds all the pictures Ben’s drawn? He needs to know that he’s potentially getting into bed with a delusional person, right?

Adrian pauses. “...what is it?”

“You... you’re going to...” How do you broach this? “You’re going to think I’m weird.”

“I am if you keep making that face at the prospect of kissing me.” Little by little, the facade is coming back. The professional veneer.

Shit.

“It’s... okay, will you promise you won’t immediately freak out, or – or—“

“Ben, I kind of need to know what it is you’re talking about first. I... I promise I’ll be open-minded about it? But I can’t promise how I’ll react to something when I don’t know what it is?”

Okay. “Sit there. I’ll... I’ll be a minute.”

***

Ben is an idiot, he knows that, and there’s a flicker of alarm that could only be Kylo trying to stop him when he gathers up his pictures. He stands, warring with a self that isn’t (?) real, before he pulls his pads and rolled up snippets through, watching as Adrian clears the table and wipes it down. 

Good. He doesn’t want pizza grease all over the papers.

“Have you been drawing erotica of me?” Adrian asks.

“What? No!” But there’s an id— _no_. “I – you’re going to think I’m insane.”

“You’re not helping me out in the dissuading me sense right now, with all this secrecy.”

“I... I knew your face before you walked in on me that first time. I’d seen you before.” Ben opens one pad, and shows him. “I’d been drawing you for years.”

That does make the other man go pale, his smile vanishing, his expression... stony. “I see.”

“Adrian... don’t... don’t... freak out? Please. I don’t know why, but I always used to have these... daydreams? I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like this other world I always used to draw. I don’t think it was ever a conscious choice, but I’d... I’d get these flashes of another world... I thought it was just my imagination, but then you turned up.”

Ben watches as Adrian cautiously flicks through the images, his fingers following the straight lines of a jacket. “So I’m your ‘type’, I suppose?”

“Yeah.” Ben pulls at the sock on one foot. “You have a whole... I mean, both of us. We have a full backstory and everything. In that universe. And we were always sort of... antagonistic until recently.”

“Oh, so you _hated_ me?”

“No. It was kind of antagonistic... uh... awkwardness and stuff. Provocation. I guess it was all sublimated wanting, but I didn’t really think about it until I actually met _you_.”

He watches as each picture is assessed in turn, and Adrian hasn’t run _yet_ , but he could be working out how to tactfully withdraw and call for mental health services. The paper rustles, as he works through them.

“You aren’t in these.”

“I am. I’m one of the masked ones.”

“Oh.” Adrian flips a page, and finds a picture of – well – ‘Hux’ – next to another tall figure. “This one is you?”

“He’s... he goes by ‘Kylo’, and yes. He’s me, of a sort.”

“Why is he masked?”

“It’s part of his... job. His rank. He’s got... sort of magic powers, and he works for the leader of the group. Both of us – of them – do. The Leader has magic, and you’re a military leader. A General. We’re part of a space... organisation, trying to take control of the galaxy.”

“I see.”

“I didn’t mean to use you without your permission. You sort of existed in that world before we met, and I don’t... things happen over there... it’s not like I control it. Not consciously.”

Adrian finishes, and sits back. “You wanted to tell me, because you wanted me not to be upset?”

“...yeah.”

“I have to say it’s the first time anyone’s _drawn_ me, let alone cast me in some fantasy other-world. And I don’t know how you knew my face, unless perhaps you’d seen me on the periphery of some social event, or through your mother’s contacts’ contacts...”

“And I memorised your face?”

“You have that kind of a mind, it seems, considering the talent I can see here... It is a bit weird, but I’m not upset.”

Wait til you hear we might not be the good guys, K— _Ben_ thinks. “So you want to... put the brakes on for a while?” he asks, trying to sound light and airy. “I know it’s—“

“Ben... this isn’t... you won’t push me away like this. If you drew explicit pictures of me and _sold_ them, then I would be upset, but this isn’t... I mean, it’s odd, but it’s not... upsetting.”

And again with the pornography. Ben wonders if maybe Adrian is sublimating that a little. “What if I promise I won’t sell any picture of you, ever, and I only draw you naked if you pose first?”

“Then I think I’m perfectly happy. But I will want to hear more about our other selves. That is, if you feel comfortable telling me?”

Ben breathes out. Thank. Fucking. God. “You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that.”

“I think I can guess.”

***

Kylo doesn’t know how ‘Ben’ got away with it. He’s sure ‘Hux’ would object, in ‘Adrian’s’ shoes, but then... Ben is some weird made-up fantasy land where he can be happy and normal, so of course he could twist it so Adrian didn’t mind.

(Except, on some level, he doesn’t understand how his subconscious could _ever_ let a version of himself be happy. It never has, not before.)

Hux is in his bed, and Kylo is on his couch. He’d been invited to stay, and Kylo had offered to keep out of the bedroom until Hux was sure about things, much as he’d been very keen on not spending the night on such an awkward surface. 

He rolls over, wondering what this all means, when he sees the door to the bedroom open. 

Hux is there, on the threshold, wearing regulation nightwear. He chews at his lip, and Kylo watches.

“...if... if you... would feel more comfortable simply _sleeping_ in a bed...?”

Sleeping. And not the other thing. Kylo looks up at him. “Are you certain?”

Sleeping. Somehow that feels more intimate, more... dangerous. Letting your guard down, letting someone see you utterly relaxed and helpless. He’s thrilled and terrified in one.

“I’m sure. I can’t let you sleep on my couch. Come through, before I lose my nerve.”

Kylo leaps to his feet as quickly as he can, and follows. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the change in warnings. The content change is about historic things that I've realised need to be discussed in the present in the story. There will be no gratuitous, extended, or glorifying scenes. There may be discussions. There is no abuse in the main pairing.
> 
> Also thank you everyone who bought me a coffee or two :)

It turns out sleeping with someone is a complicated affair. Hux has a ‘side’ to the bed (all of it) and Kylo isn’t sure how much touching is allowed. He’s lingeringly aroused from the kissing, and from the thought of being in bed (even in a currently platonic way) with the other man, but that’s sort of killed by how he has to keep scooching back so they don’t...

“Do you think I’d invite you in if I wasn’t comfortable with some contact?”

Kylo ducks his head into his shoulders like a reluctant reptile. “...no?”

“I know it’s strange. But if we... want to have a... relationship, we need to not be so frigid that the tension gives us backache and migraines.”

“...so... touching is okay?”

“Touching is okay. It might be odd at first, but... I want... it to stop being odd.”

That’s fair, he thinks, and he unravels slightly. “If it gets too much...?”

“I will say. I... trust you... understand that I’m not—“

“Yes.” He is, somehow, and also relieved. “Is it okay if I – if we... cuddle? And... kiss a little?”

“...you’ll be able to restrain yourself?”

Kylo snorts. “I’ve managed three decades of it, so I think so.”

That gets him a quirked brow for the confession. _Ben_ might know what he’s doing, but Kylo... only does from afar. And he thinks it’s best to be open about it.

“Alright.”

“...I’m not going to be able to – you know – not react. But just because I’m...”

“You can say ‘erect’, you know.”

“...not the word I would personally have used, but yes. Just because I’m ‘erect’ it doesn’t mean I need to do anything about it.”

“...and if I... don’t?”

“So long as me being aroused and you not doesn’t cause you discomfort, then... I don’t see why it’s a problem?” If they were planning on consummating, yes, it would be a hindrance, but not if they’re just going to canoodle. 

“Alright.” Hux rolls onto his side, facing him. 

He looks petrified, and Kylo wonders if this is such a good idea, if he’s going to be so on edge. “What are you afraid of?” he asks, lifting a hand to brush the backs of his knuckles over his cheek. 

“You have to ask?” 

Kylo waits, turning so his thumb glides over his cheek bone. He’s never been a patient man, but he thinks this is worth the effort of trying.

“Aside from the evolutionary side of things, telling me you could slit my throat in my sleep – and yes, I know you could do it awake, too and that doesn’t make me feel any better – you... what if I’m... not enough?”

“...not enough?” he echoes. “How could you be not enough?”

“I’m... married to my work. I’m... not very personable. I’m all sorts of reasons why _not_.”

Kylo’s hand curls around his face, holding him, fighting the slight request to let him turn his gaze away. He waits until Hux meets his eyes. Waits, and leans in to place the softest kiss he can to his lips. “Please don’t end this before even trying,” he asks, his voice as light as he can make it. “Whatever it is, we can work through it.”

“And when I’m not enough?”

“...do you... is this about...” And he has to smile. “Being ‘erect’?”

Hux looks furious, and ashamed, and murderous, and...

“Hux... I don’t even know if I’ll really... you know. But if we don’t... is this so awful?”

“I’m... afraid it won’t be enough to keep you interested,” Hux admits, at last. “If I take too long, or if I’m... not... adequate.”

“Just kiss me like you did before, and you’re a _million_ times more than adequate,” Kylo suggests, and slides his nose against his... partner’s. Bedmate’s. Significant other’s. 

Slowly, hands reach back and forth, sliding over a side, pulling a faint giggle of tickle, or flinch and hiss of shock. It’s ridiculous, but Kylo can’t actually remember the last time anyone caressed him. Not even non-sexually... it was so long ago. The heat of a bare palm over his skin, or through the fabric, is... soothing. Soothing, and intense and exciting, in equal measure. He watches as Hux tries to hide his own revelations, and then they share a secret smile. 

Even here, in a room only they have access to, he still feels he needs to hide it. 

“I... almost feel... raw,” Hux whispers. “As if it’s too much.”

“I know. I think... it’s because you mean something to me.”

Hux snorts. “How romantic.”

Kylo smiles, and leans in for another kiss. This is just the speed he’s happy with, for the time being, and it’s more than he ever dared hope for.

***

Ben guesses maybe the ‘I drew you from some subconscious stalkery thing’ will take some processing, which is why Adrian kisses him sweetly goodnight, and arranges the next date before he leaves.

It’s a subtle thing, but the fact he arranges it _before_ he heads out lets Ben know that this hasn’t failed utterly, and he’s grateful for it. Although there’s parts of him that most assuredly are _not_ okay with waiting, he knows there’s a need for it. 

Once he’s gone, he bites into his lip and balls his hands up and stomps his feet a little. It. Date. Coffee. Movie. Pizza. Kissing.

 _Pictures_.

And better received than he could ever have hoped, although he shudders to think what Adrian would feel about his alter ego being mortal enemies with his actual boss, and potential in-law.

Why is this so complicated? Why can’t he be like everyone else, and just have to worry about spinach between the teeth, or turning up late to a date, or... or... whatever it is normal people worry about? But no. He has to go and have some weird kind of delusional other reality, doesn’t he? 

Oh well. 

He picks up his phone, flicking it off mute, and sees he’s got a barrage of texts from his mother. Some asking for updates, some offering dating advice, and some complaining that her assistant and advisor will be too busy to assist and advise, but that her love for him will make it work.

Ben picks up the phone. He doesn’t really _like_ phone calls, but Mom does, and so that’s how he gets in touch.

“Hey, Mom—no it didn’t go _terrible_ , we’re not – I am not talking about that with you! Geez. It went _fine_ , thank you... no I didn’t... no, I told you... okay. Yes. Do you need anything?”

The list she gives him is mostly impossible, and he sighs. 

“From Walmart?”

The next list is not so impossible, so he memorises it. 

“I’ll be over with the stuff first thing tomorrow. Text me if you think of more, okay? Yes. Love you. See you soon.”

Click. 

He still feels the butterflies, and all they’ve done is kiss. 

In _both_ realities.

***

He remembers fragments of the past, and that worries him. His memories aren’t complete: huge sections are just not there, or are foggy, distant. Sometimes he wonders if the things he remembers actually happened, or if his imagination has created them. 

Flickers of conversation, emotion, and odd little details. 

Memories of silently crying, hiding from the world.

Pain. So much pain. Anger. Frustration.

It can’t be true.

It isn’t true.

If it isn’t... why does part of him wish it was?

***

Ben lies in bed, restless, wondering why Kylo is getting more luck than him. Not that he’s getting _much_ , but he is at least getting hands-on experience. 

It’s frustrating, and he keeps feeling traces of fingers across his bare flesh. 

His cock is already half-hard, and only his attempts to will it down are keeping it from springing fully to life. He wants him. He _wants_ him. Adrian is sexy in that... overly-smart, efficient, secretly sharper-than-thou way. He’s tall enough that Ben doesn’t feel like he’s hovering overhead, and he has those _eyes_ that defy description, those lips... that smile, that laugh, that... everything...

He’s never going to sleep without rubbing one off, is he? 

It feels almost like a violation to imagine Adrian like this without his consent, but it _is_ just a fantasy. He’s not harming anyone. And he already has a whole second life for the man, somewhere in a galaxy far, far away. 

So...

There’s a brrrt of vibration, and he glances over to the cellphone, guiltily. He’s already half-way to touching himself, but...

_> >> Hi. You awake?_

Ben smiles. They’ve been texting on and off for a while, often quite late into the night anyway. Ridiculous jokes they’ve found. Weird questions. Just. Stuff.

<<< Yeah. You?

>>> Ha ha. 

_< << Everything okay?_

_> >> Yes. Shouldn’t it be?_

_< << No?_

_< << Sorry_

_> >> Why are you apologising?_

Why is he? Ben frowns, and stares at the keypad on the screen. Why is he?

_< << I don’t know. I guess I’m just a pessimists._

_> >> At least a pessimist is never disappointed._

_< << Spoken like a true optimist. :)_

_> >> I just wanted to say I had a lovely night. Sorry I didn’t text sooner._

_< << It’s ok. I had fun too._

_> >> I want to hear more about this other me, though. _

_< << I’m not sure you do. ;)_

_> >> Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?_

_< << It’s just complicated. It’s_

_< << It’s about a galactic war. Or several in succession._

_> >> You said you were a knight of some kind?_

_< << And you’re a military commander. Yes._

_> >> Am I good at it?_

You blew up five planets.

_< << Very much so._

_> >> Were you planning on doing anything with the stories?_

_< << Not really. They’re sort of private._

_< << You’re the only one who knows about them._

_> >> And the only guest star, I assume._

_< << The only one I know much about._

_> >> Oh?_

_< << Some other people are in the distance._

_> >> Would you prefer I don’t ask?_

Yes. Very much so. Then he doesn’t need to conceal things, or lie.

But then, why did he tell him about it in the first place?

_< << Mom is the enemy, sort of. We’re politically opposed to her._

_< << And I murdered my father._

There is no response for a while, and Ben mourns his now-defunct erection. Nothing like a bit of patricide to let the side down.

_> >> Why?_

_< << He_

_< << He wanted me to go back to them_

_< << To the Resistance and the Republic_

_> >> But they’re the bad guys?_

_< << I’m not sure there’s actually any GOOD guys_

_> >> I see._

_> >> But you control the story, don’t you?_

_< << Not really. It sort of just happens to me. I know what’s going on_

_< << It – don’t laugh – it feels like I know like I always knew_

_< << Things happen and they are then memories, not ideas_

_> >> Have you tried controlling it? Making it... work? Making it better?_

_< << I never really felt I needed to_

A lie. He’d very much wanted to push Kylo at Hux, but that’s a different thing. 

_> >> Maybe we could talk about the situation some time? See if we could help things along._

_< << It’s not real_

_> >> I know that._

_< << So why bother?_

_> >> Why... bother anything, then?_

_< << This is hardly as important as eating and sleeping_

_> >> Not if it affects you._

_> >> It is just an offer. If you want to talk through... plot-holes, or developments, I am your man._

_< << Thanks_

_> >> Apparently my attempts at dirty texts needs some work._

_< << Yeah, just a bit._

_< << Points for effort though._

_> >> I should probably go to sleep._

_> >> I do miss you when you’re not here. Even if you’re a text or a call away._

Charmer. Ben smiles. 

_< << You could always come... back.... 0:)_

_> >> Maybe next time I’ll bring a toothbrush._

_< << And some chocolate spread. For before._

_> >> I think this conversation is well past saving in the sex sense._

_< << But next time?_

_> >> Definitely. Night._

_< << Night._

His fingers hover over more strokes. Kisses. Emoji. The word he’s not allowed to think of yet, let alone _use_. Instead, he watches his phone.

Slowly, slowly he drifts to sleep.

He’s gone by the time the last text arrives.

_> >> But seriously, what the hell kind of name is Armitage, anyway?_


	12. Chapter 12

The next date has Ben feeling more nervous than he can feel since his finals. That probably says plenty about how easy his life has been, or how little he’s put himself out there, he supposes. Adrian already knows way too much about him for it to be _too_ much of a surprise, but the fact they’ve opened the doors to new types of interactions... whilst not really having the option of running away...

That’s the hardest part. He can’t just... delete and block his number. He can’t just send him a text and never see him again. Adrian is wound into his life and his family, and if it doesn’t work... Ben has to hope it will be sensible, mature, and... well. Polite.

Adrian makes the arrangements for them to eat at a nice place Ben has been to, but not in a while, and the woman who sits them at their table beams when she sees them together. It’s been a while since anyone was less than kind about his particular focus on dating other men, but it’s also been a while since anyone seemed so openly happy to see him dating another guy.

They drink a nice bottle of wine, they share a huge slice of chocolate cake, and then Adrian invites him to his own place for the first time. 

Huh. Ben’s surprised when he realises it _is_ the first time. Adrian’s been around so much that... well, he sort of started to think that he belonged in all places Organa-Solo. Like, it was just natural for him to be in all of their homes, and he didn’t have one of his own, because... because he was already part of _them_.

Which makes this taxi ride even more butterfly-to-the-stomach. 

He doesn’t have any kind of preconception about the decor, or even what sort of place he would even live in. So when they drive way out to the suburbs and it’s a very small, oddly urban affair... 

“You look surprised?”

“I... yeah,” Ben admits, as he admires the small yard, fenced off. It’s kind of... homey. The kind of Simpsons-family-home you expect from a sitcom _family_ , not a single man. It’s not like it’s inherited, because Adrian came over from Eng—from—from across the pond (he forgets the fine Venn diagrams of political correctness). 

“You were thinking I lived like you?”

“You kind of have that sort of a job.” Political first, family... never. Not that you _couldn’t_ have a family (his mother was a prime example), but that if you already got into the business without some kind of home-life tie... you might well end up living in apartment blocks of varying degrees of comfort for the rest of your life.

Unless you made it big enough to have _two_ places, that was.

“I thought about it, but... this place was actually about as much in rent, because of how far away it is. I know I spend a lot on my commute, but... I guess it’s the whole...” his lips twist. “They say the Englishman’s home is his castle, and I might not be English, but I definitely like having a garden. It feels more like a home to me than an apartment ever would.”

They walk through the small yard up to the door, and Ben has flashes of every movie ever where the teenage boy goes to pick his date up for prom.

Something Adrian never experienced, huh. 

But instead of a father warning him jovially, implying the shotgun in the bedroom, or the mother fussing over them... it’s just Adrian who lives here. 

Inside the door, and he follows hastily at removing his shoes, putting them alongside the neat little lines of same-sized shoes of various kinds. He tugs his socks neat, and glances around.

There’s definitely that ‘corporate professional modern touch’ to much of it, but there’s also weirdly homey things, too. Large printed wall art of broad vistas from around the world, the odd straggling charger cable, a small cluster of forgotten mugs and books on the table by the couch. 

Ben feels an odd pang of nostalgia, maybe even déjà vu, as Adrian scoops up the mugs with a minor blush forming. “Uh...”

“Nice to see you’re human,” Ben says, grabbing the other mugs to help him. 

“I get distracted a lot. Or I fall asleep, and then it’s cold, and—“

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me. You’ve _seen_ my workspace, remember?”

His smile gets wider, and then he looks alarmed. “What are you doing?”

“...filling the dishwasher?”

“I don’t use it.”

“You... why not?”

“I don’t like the way the glasses feel after,” he says, looking worried. “And it just feels wrong.”

“Oh.”

“...I’ll wash them by hand, later.” 

“I can help.” It’s been a while since he did more than the odd plate at once, preferring his compact unit to do all the work for him, but he still remembers how. 

“I’m sorry I’m being so weird. I... haven’t had anyone here in a long while.”

“I don’t mind.”

Adrian leans in to kiss his temple, then empties the mugs into the sink. “I’ll clean them later. I was kind of hoping for more... movie time, not using you for manual labour.”

Oh. _Oh_. Oops. Ben grins. “Okay.”

***

Weirdly, now that the pressure of _that_ taken off his shoulders for the minute, Kylo feels a lot more comfortable. 

It’s not that he has no interest in sex, it’s just... he isn’t quite there, yet. He’s _very_ interested, but he has no intention of rushing things.

Not when it’s all so great as it is. 

The days seem to go much better, now. He wakes up in Hux’s bed, has some sleepy morning cuddling, and then he slowly gets up and goes about his day. Everything feels lighter, feels... _better_ , and he’s no longer so brooding or torn in two. 

Even when they’re discussing strategy, he no longer sees Hux’s disagreements as a personal attack, but as a differing point of view. It’s easier to _debate_ , to negotiate and improve upon their plans, and he knows Hux actually pays attention to his ideas. 

And then at night, they retire together. Sometimes they have time to watch things, or talk, and sometimes one or both of them is so tired that all they want to do is curl up.

The first night that Hux lies against him on the couch reading his report... to fall asleep against him... Kylo feels a spreading warmth. It’s just a little thing, such a simple change. Watching the way his face goes slack and innocent, feeling the vibrations of his finely-tuned snores. He makes sure the man doesn’t sleep in a way that will hurt him, and he gently carries him to bed once he thinks he’s deep enough under.

It’s... it’s... _home_. Having someone to go home _to_. Having someone to talk through the stress of the day. Having someone happy to see you, and whose happiness matters to _you_. Home.

***

The movie gets interrupted by kissing. This is not a bad thing, not by a long shot. Kissing on the couch, turned mostly facing one another, a hand gripping his shirt and another in his hair, gripping it at the base of his skull. 

Kissing. 

The kind of kisses that involve noses pushed into cheeks, and laughs brushing over teeth, and tongues that slick and tug and push and prod. Ben finds himself moving, then pausing, and watching Adrian’s eyes.

“If you’re waiting for me to say ‘no’, it’s not coming.”

Ben grins, and pushes Adrian to sit square onto the couch, and moves to straddle his lap. He puts both hands under his jaw, tilting his head back for deeper kisses. He’s probably way too light headed, but this is the best he’s felt in _forever_. 

And he’s not even self-conscious about the hands suddenly on his waist, but then they grab his ass, and just for a moment...

“...too much?” Adrian asks, his hands sliding lower on his thighs, moving away from the point of contention.

“...uh. I... don’t know how... far you were thinking, but...”

“As far or as... not-far as we’re both comfortable with,” the shorter man says. “But is there something you want to say?”

“It’s... uh. I’ve... I’ve never bottomed. Never been able to. If... if that’s a problem...?”

“Do you _want_ to?”

“...I don’t know?” He pushes his forehead against Adrian’s shoulder. 

“Well, we’re not doing _anything_ that either of us doesn’t want to, so you can stop worrying right now. If you need me to keep my hands away from your ass, I can do—“

“...as long as I know you... don’t... won’t get upset if I don’t want _that_...”

Adrian snorts. “Ben, can I confess something? Whilst I do enjoy topping, I _love_ getting fucked. Love it. Few things I love more than a nice, fat cock inside of me. And everything else, too: sucking, stroking, rubbing...”

Shit, but hearing him reel things off like that... it does something to him, and Ben whines at the images in his head. “...you... don’t find bigger men intimidating?”

“Humanity invented sexual lubricants for a reason, darling,” he purrs. “But in all seriousness: even if you’re the size of a Venti frappucino, I’m interested. Though I have a slight preference to being on top and _riding_ the hell out of you...”

Oh. _Oh_. Ben grabs his forearms, and leans back. “...how did I get lucky enough to meet you?”

“Fate.” 

Is that a twinkle, or is Ben imagining things, layered over things, over other things...?

“I’m not going to ever ask you to do something you don’t want to do, and I’m also happy trying things you _might_ like, if you’re prepared to tell me if they don’t do it for you, so we stop.”

Ben has thought about it, plenty, but whenever he’s tried in the past it’s turned to utter shit. Ruined more than the odd relationship, too, if he’s brutally honest. He normally opted for dropping to his knees and sucking, back when he went cruising just for the sheer physicality of it. Got them there so there was no risk of them trying to put it in, and then took whatever pleasure he got given in return. Quite a few guys were happy to let him fuck them (if they weren’t too intimidated), but more than a few had walked off when things had gotten... complicated.

“I think maybe, one day, but not yet,” he admits. “It just... I don’t think I’m there, yet, but the other thing... _yes_. I’m _there_.”

“You sure? Because... I don’t want you to feel you have to—“

“Adrian Hux, I am very _definitely_ ready. I would _very much like it_ if you would do me the honour of bouncing on my dick.”

“And they say romance is dead.”

But he’s grinning, and Ben feels like something inside... it’s... weird. Hurting, but not like it normally does.

He’ll think about it _later_ , though, because his boyfriend is busily pulling at his clothing as they try to strip before they even get off the couch. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...sorry for the... cliffhanger? I will continue ASAP :)


	13. Chapter 13

Adrian has more fingers than he has any legal right to have, and still they’re not enough. Ben wonders briefly – but only briefly – if they’re going too fast, but the way his scalp tingles as his hair is pulled... nope. Not too fast.

They’ve done the sensible stuff, right? The getting to know one another, the... talking. The weird confessions. The _dating_. And now they get to see if they’re sexually compatible (and judging by the way his clothing is being ripped from him, even after his admission of preferences), it’s going to go just fine. 

Lips and teeth graze his neck, and he whimpers, feeling a little unmanly for doing so, shuddering as he’s kissed just short of bruising marks. In a way, he wants them, but he knows they’d be too obvious, too hard to cover up. 

Too hard, like his dick right now. He has hold of Adrian’s belt, pulling at it furiously, trying to get his hand inside to grab at his cock. Just because he doesn’t want to ride it doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to _touch_ it, and he’s gratified by the vibrating suction at the curve of his neck. 

“Bed,” Adrian growls, like he expects no resistance.

(For a moment, just for a moment, he feels like... like... ‘Hux’... but Ben blinks furiously, and slips backwards and onto his feet.)

There, he pauses for a moment, watching his face, desperately seeking some reassurance he wasn’t sure he needed. Just some... some way of knowing it’s okay. He sees the concern flickering, and the hand that cups his cheek. Something cold as well as hot inside, an exhilaration that’s as much fear as it is fantasy. 

It isn’t just sex, is it? Not right now. Or is he being ridiculously sentimental? Even if Adrian really does _like_ him, there’s no way of knowing he likes him _quite_ as much as Ben likes **him**. He’s being ridiculous. 

“We can wait,” Adrian offers, his thumb grazing Ben’s blazingly warm cheek.

“I thought we had?”

“We have, but we can wait more.”

Do you want to? It’s there, on the tip of his tongue. He’s being paranoid, thinking Adrian’s looking for a way out. Thinking he’s unsure, or having second thoughts. But if he says no, now (and his body screams _don’t you dare_ ), then how awkward would it be to—

“Adrian...”

“Don’t say yes because you think you have to. Say yes because you _want_ to.”

Damn, but he should be at the spearhead of a campaign, not just orchestrating one. There’s a sudden fervour in him that Ben can’t help but respond to, a charisma, or... something. He lifts his own hand, curling it over the one on his cheek. “I do.”

“Do you?”

He’s not asking because _he_ isn’t sure. He’s asking because _Ben_ isn’t sure. The artist digs his teeth into his lower lip, then nods. “I want this.”

“Bedroom. Strip. Make it good for me. Lie down and hold onto the headboard.”

The fear turns to fire, and Ben nods. He nearly trips over his feet in excitement, wondering how he got so damn lucky? He can’t say he _only_ wants to be bossed around, but right now it’s true. Into the bedroom (warm tones, plenty of pillows) and shucks himself from the rest of his clothes. His cock lifts proudly from his lap as he clambers onto the bed, grabbing the bars. 

“I’m clean, but I’m fine with barriers,” he manages to remember to say.

“Same. I prefer not to use them if I’m fluid-bound with someone.”

It’s been long enough that the last test he had was more a reassurance that nothing had been lingering before coming up. Since then, the only partner he’d put in any risk was his own hand, and nothing but some chafing if he didn’t use enough lube to ease things along. Those thoughts go out the window as Adrian starts his own undressing.

The buttons on his shirt are already halfway down, showing the lean, taut, pale-glowing frame. No, he _can’t_ be glowing, but somehow he _is_. An odd scar under one pectoral, a very faint, golden treasure map of russet hair just poking up from the waistband of his pants. 

Ben _stares_. He stares, as Adrian reveals himself. He’s – he’s _beautiful_ , and he’s pretty sure his eyebrows and jaw are now in different timezones.

“...what?” Self-consciousness on the edges of his voice.

“You’re... _gorgeous_.”

Adrian’s face cycles through a mismatch of emotions, with his eyes, mouth, nose and hairline all flickering, like a book where you flip each section and end up with a monstrous combination of ill-matching outfits. “Ben...”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do.” 

The line almost – almost – sounds like Hux, but Ben just grins as he watches him remove his pants and neatly put everything to one side.

He’s the same from head to toe: shark-like in his slender musculature, lit almost from within. He’d be glorious to draw, to _really_ draw. Patrician features, though more refined than his own, overly-classical nose; hair that seems to never be wrong; eyes that are too smart for their own good; a smile that could explode a small sun. He moves to straddle Ben’s thighs, and the heat from him is almost _cloying_ in how intense, and wonderful, it feels. 

Ben wants to move his hands, but he’s been told not to. The submission of it is odd, to lie back and not to touch. Fear kicks in his hindbrain, but not so intensely that he can’t handle it. Like a constant trickle of cold adrenaline in his veins, making his mouth feel like he’s holding onto helium-filled ping-pong balls. 

“You weren’t joking about being a big boy.” Adrian uses just one thumb, stroking up and down his shaft. The contact is soft, and makes focussing hard all over again.

“It’s proportionate.”

“Like fuck it is.” 

Warm fingers curl around him, and honestly... Ben could almost come right here and now. Someone beautiful who he cares about has hold of his cock, someone whose expression is nothing but happiness and interest... he wants him to move, and to never move. To stroke, and to hold him forever. 

“...it’s... all yours.” That’s a little more squeaky than he plans.

“I intend to put it to good use. A dick like this shouldn’t be locked away... well. Not for more than a day, anyway. It deserves worshipping, sucking, stroking... riding...”

Each word is punctuated by another shuck along his length, making his thighs tremble in anticipation. Just his hand... his thumb seeming to find every sensitive spot, and then rubbing under the crown...

“Oh!”

“You like the idea of that? You ever let someone go to town on you?”

“...n-not like you’re implying.” He pulls with his hands. “Can’t I join in?”

“I suppose that’s only fair. And I should ask: no latex allergy, no lubricant allergies?”

“Only to banana flavoured condoms. Those are an abomination unto the Lord.” Ben knows it looks cute having a patterned yellow thing on your unmentionables, but the taste reminds him of childhood medicine, so-called ‘flavoured’ things that taste of nothing that you’d ever want to eat in the real world. 

“I’ll keep the fruit basket out of it.” Instead, Adrian leans over to the bedside table, pulling out the bottle of lube. “Want to cross the streams?”

It takes him a moment to place that, and then he snorts. “Don’t you think the power of our penises combined could bring down the city?”

“If we do nothing... the monster will rise anyway.” 

“Now I’m confused if we’re bad or not.” _Ghostbuster_ references aside, Adrian _sure_ is making it hard to keep up. There’s lube now, and his hand is sticky and ready, reaching over to his boyfriend’s cock, stroking it slowly. 

Adrian moans, his eyes slitting as he fights the urge to thrust, and Ben is fascinated by the foreskin clinging to his cock. He’s never been with an uncut guy before, and so he’s pulling it maybe a little too hard up, and then pushing it down to see the more familiar tip, unsnugged by skin. 

“You’re... very bad.” A thumb flicks over the end of his dick. “So very bad.”

“...can...?”

Adrian nods, giving him permission without knowing what for. 

“...how... does it feel? To... bottom?”

“Have you ever touched yourself there?”

Ben squirms. “A bit, but I got... I stopped.”

“If you’d like – _when_ you’d like – we could try just with fingers, and even tongue there. Maybe you could work up to a small plug or vibrator inside you while I’m on top of you?”

Oh. _Oh_. Yes, he could have toys in him, couldn’t he? He’d somehow just always imagined it was cock or nothing, and top or bottom. Not... top, but with something inside him, too. That might actually... that might work. 

“But it feels good?”

Adrian laughs, short, sharp, sweet. “Oh, _yes_. It’s like... nothing you’ve ever known. It’s like being stroked in places made just for pleasure – I mean, your prostate, not your ass in general. That _does_ have a purpose...” 

He takes Ben’s free hand, guiding it behind him, urging him to touch. “But when it goes inside?”

“It’s... it’s good. You have to be relaxed, and want it, but oh...” The way he breathes makes it sound... sublime. “It’s like feeling full after eating, except not. That same kind of... pleasant... completion. All those nerves tingling, and then the pressure on your sphincter, the stretch around it... the stroking, the prostate milking if you do it right...”

Ben’s fingers move, the middle one stroking into him as the neighbouring two tease at his pucker. “Yeah?”

“Even if you don’t want to be penetrated, just being stroked there, around there... it’s good. But few things in life are as satisfying as a good...” Tug. “Long.” Tug. “Fat.” _Tug._ “Cock.”

Ben isn’t wholly sure why he’s never been able to do it, but he thinks... possibly. If anyone, it would be him. He slips his finger deep inside, and starts to fuck him with it. “You love to ride it?”

“Then I can go as fast or slow as I please.”

Two fingers, and he’s feeling the strain of holding back. “You don’t like being thrown down and fucked?”

“I like that sometimes, but mostly I know what I want, and I know how to get it, and so why should I not take it, if my partner’s willing?”

That makes an awful lot of sense, and he slips another finger in, pausing to make sure he’s properly relaxing. His hole is still plenty tight enough that it will be snug and fierce around him, but he’s getting there, most assuredly. “You like big cocks?”

“The bigger the better. Long ones, fat ones, both at once...”

“You never had a bad fuck?”

“I had less than great, but never bad.” Adrian tilts his head, not asking, but asking all the same.

“How far up the chart is this one?” he says, instead, changing the subject deftly.

“I’ll tell you when it’s done.”

“You can’t even give me a— _oooooh_.”

Adrian moves, shoving his hands, grabbing his cock and moving to slap it at his ass. So close to sliding home, but not quite there, not yet. Ben grabs his hips, his thighs, his forearms... anything. Anything. He just wants to finally close this, to seal the deal. 

It’s dumb, it is, but it feels like it’s legitimising something. It’s just sexual satisfaction, but... also it’s more? It’s a trust, it’s an openness, it’s... the sudden clench of a hole around him, swallowing him in deep.

Most bottoms have wanted him to fuck them raw if they wanted his dick anywhere near them, and he doesn’t remember having to lie back and accept it like this, not ever. Because he isn’t controlling the speed or depth, he can just... enjoy it. Enjoy the way Adrian’s body slips down to welcome him home, or the way he stains like red wine dripped from his hair down to his shoulders. The way he sucks his lip in for a moment, right before he starts to move. The way he can see Adrian’s belly tense, or see his jaw twitch, or the utter _bliss_ in his eyes as he starts to fuck himself harder.

Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_.

Ben holds onto his hips, mostly to ground himself. Adrian’s settled all the way down, moaning in open satisfaction. Groaning, and flexing his internal muscles, giving Ben the edges of a heart attack. 

“Too much?” he asks.

As if. As if he should ask _Ben_. “N-no.”

“Good. I’ve only just started.”

Ben has never really played with someone who knows his own body as well as Adrian does, but it turns out he’s some kind of tantric sex magic master. He will bounce and ride him like he’s on a pony’s saddle, driving the internal pressure gauge up to almost-exploding, and then sit down, hard, and just tense inside, giving them both pleasure.

On and on he goes, kisses between, a final grab of Adrian’s own cock, pumping it and then backing off when told to. Over and over, for what feels like hours of bliss, but is probably closer to a single hour. Ben has to admire his tenacity, even though he’s going mad. His self-control, his... determination.

Every time he thinks he’s getting him close, Adrian pushes him off, cooling down enough to take over. Up, down, up, down... blurring one moment into the next, until he isn’t sure he even could say his own name. It’s wonderful, it’s horrible, it’s everything... and he’s helpless to do anything but _love it_. 

“H--- _Adrian_ —“

“Are you close?”

He was close three years ago. Ben nods, his balls achingly heavy. 

“Do you want to come inside of me, or—“

“ _Yes_.”

Adrian nods, and redoubles his efforts. It’s furious heat, and then he’s calling out his lover’s name as the stimulation tips him over at last. He spills deep inside him, and watches as there’s a fist around that cock, stroking fiercely, a knot at his brow.

“...in my mouth?” he asks, feeling oddly shy. 

“...you... sure...?”

Ben nods. He feels the uncomfortable parting of their bodies, feels the way his cock flops down sticky and used, and then there’s a firm, leaking prick at his lips. 

He opens slightly, and then there’s shallow, rough thrusting. His hands grab Adrian’s ass, dipping into the sticky cleft, urging him to fuck harder into his mouth. His eyes drag up, and then he sees the utter joy on his lover’s face, and that’s what makes him suddenly hollow his cheeks and gulp, tongue working under the shaft. He wants to taste it, and it’s only a few, achingly hot moments before the salt taste hits the back of his throat, and survival instinct makes him swallow.

Yes, he’s sure. 


	14. Chapter 14

Kylo wakes from sleep with such fire between his legs that he can’t think, and he rubs against the slight pressure against him, his eyes still shut and his mind half-way to... wherever the hell his ‘other’ self lives...

It’s several, grunting ruts before he realises he’s holding Hux by the waist and grinding into his ass. He stops, wondering if he’s awake or not.

“I am,” Hux replies, to the unspoken question.

“...I... wasn’t... properly.”

“I figured. I thought you’d be more... seductive if you _actually_ wanted something consciously.”

Kylo snorts, and starts to pull back, but a hand on his stops him. 

“I’m not complaining.”

Kylo’s mouth is dry as his hand is pulled, the palm sliding where Hux wants it. He grazes down to his lap, where – beneath the soft fabric of his pyjamas – there’s an obvious equal, but not opposite, reaction to his own. 

“...you...?”

“Yes I’m sure, just... just your hand. If it gets too much I’ll tell you.”

Not that Kylo has any experience with anything but his own hand, of course, unless you count the pornographic dreams from his alter ego. He carefully moves his palm, feeling for the shape of him through the fabric of his pants, feeling how he’s already more than halfway there. 

Is this right? Just because he had a wet dream? Although... Hux seems in favour, judging by the way he lightly rocks his weight forwards, into the palm that’s doing nothing but slide over his groin. 

“Can... can I push your pants down?” Kylo asks.

There’s a pause, and then a nod. 

Carefully, they work together, and Hux pushes the waistband down under his ass, leaving them high up on his thighs. Not comfortable all the way, yet, which Kylo can understand. He mimics the gesture, letting his cock bounce free. 

After a moment, Hux shoves his ass back, and Kylo shuffles until his cock is pushed down, rubbing at the backs of his thighs. He doesn’t want him to think he’s trying to push inside of him, not yet, anyway. 

“I’m not going to break.” Hux sounds irritated, but also...

Kylo can hear it when he’s afraid, concerned, uncertain. He can hear the doubt in his tones, hidden beneath the acid he drips to conceal it. With care, he kisses the side of his neck, reaching down to draw his fingers over his shaft. 

“...what if I want you to?”

The threat is playful and light, but it makes Hux react. He’s grabbing for Kylo’s hand, pressing it harder to his cock. He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t need to.

This is all new, and terrifying, and wonderful, and exciting. All the good things, but it could go so drastically wrong. What if they’re not sexually compatible? What if one of them enjoys it, and the other doesn’t? What if one wants it more than the other? What if—

He curls his fingers and palm around him, feeling something sort-of-familiar to his own, but because he doesn’t get the sensation of being touched... it’s... weird. Good. It’s better than touching himself, but that’s because he’s also rubbing against the backs of his thighs. 

With breath almost held, he grips harder, stroking him from the base to the tip, getting a feel for how hard he likes to be touched. Hux’s hand moves back, over his shoulder, tangling into his hair and demanding his face moves into his neck.

“You like that?” Kylo purrs, an engine taking off by his ear.

“What do you think?”

“I think I’d like to hear your answer.”

Hux’s legs part, and Kylo’s cock slides between them. Those thighs clench around him, giving him more stimulation, and it makes his chest tighten. “Is that answer enough?”

“I _like_ the sound of your voice.”

Hux’s snort of laughter is like medicine on a sore throat, and Kylo seals his lips to his throat to suckle, just below his jawline.

“Don’t leave marks!”

 _I won’t_ , he thinks, right into his mind.

Which is when Hux goes _stiff_ like he’s been hit.

“What was that?”

Kylo lifts his mouth from his neck. “What?”

“You... your mouth... but...”

Oh. _Oh_. “I... can... sometimes push my thoughts into a mind.”

Hux doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t move any more, either.

“Hux?”

“...can you... take them, too?”

Kylo nods, and then tries to pull away, but is held still again. “I can. With or without your knowledge, or consent, which is what you’re concerned about, isn’t it?”

Again, there’s no verbal response. Kylo sucks his lips in, waiting.

“You didn’t hear that?” Hux asks.

“...hear what?”

“I was testing to see if you were... if you were listening in.”

Oh. Ah. “I don’t. I don’t... listen to people unless I have a reason to, such as... interrogation. Sometimes I _hear_ things, but I’ve gotten better at accidental eavesdropping.”

Hux turns his head, looking back at him. “Have you ever – on purpose, or accidentally—?”

“Not since we became a thing,” Kylo admits. “A few times, early on. Both on purpose, and not.”

“...what made you stop?”

“I don’t _like_ knowing what everyone is thinking. Very often, it’s not positive. And even if it is... I don’t like it.” He’s never really liked it. It puts every relationship under extreme strain. 

“I see.”

“...you’re angry with me?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know... I suppose I haven’t fully engaged with the fact that you are... in the nicest possible sense: ‘not normal’.”

The Force. Yes. The invisible third party in their relationship. Hux has never asked him about it, never once mentioned it. “That is a tactful way of calling me strange.”

“Kylo, I am _trying_.” Hux’s voice is even more strained now. “I am trying, but... it is not easy for me.”

“Because I have the Force?”

“Because _I_ don’t.”

Oh. 

_Oh_.

“You’re upset you’re not Force-sensitive?”

“The thought has crossed my mind from time to time,” Hux drolls. 

“...even if I tell you it’s more trouble than it’s worth?”

“How would you like to be excluded from something? Would you have been happy without the Force? Or would you constantly feel like you were _missing_ something, or – or – inferior?”

Kylo knows he’d have hated life without the Force. He’d have become like his father (and that makes him tense unhappily), bitter and envious. But Hux doesn’t... “I had relatives. It would have been harder for me not to have it.”

“And yet, here you are, the cherished, chosen right hand of the Leader... because of your genetics, and not because of your... abilities.”

Kylo lets go of his cock, then, and tries to get Hux to turn around to face him. He wants to have this conversation properly, not half-assed. “Hux... I’m sorry you don’t have the Force, but believe me... being ‘chosen’ by the Supreme Leader isn’t all picnics and presents.”

“I’m aware of that. And that my... envy... is unbecoming of me. Forget I—“

“No,” he says, and curls a hand around his face. “I... can understand how... how you might feel. Other people have felt that way around me. It’s... it’s normal to want what you do not have.”

“I don’t want to be _normal_. I want to be _better_ than normal.” Hux’s eyes blaze suddenly, anger and self-loathing. 

Kylo... hurts for him. He leans in, and kisses the corner of his downturned lips. “You are _much_ more than normal. You are. You have accomplished all of this... and without the Force. The Force isn’t... it isn’t like it’s that or nothing, but it makes life... easier in some ways for those of us with it, and harder, too. For you to get this far...”

“Don’t baby me, Kylo.”

“I’m _not_ , Armitage.” He never uses his name, and it jolts the man in front of him. “I’m not. Having the envy, the jealousy, is ‘normal’, but what you do _after_ that is what really defines you. An automatic response is natural, and can’t be changed. A _conscious choice_ , a... direction, a strategy... those are your abilities. That’s what makes you _better_. Feeling those negative things... and moving beyond them.”

“But I’m not,” Hux complains. “I’m not moving beyond them.”

“You’re admitting them,” Kylo reminds him. “Right now. You’re admitting a weakness, something you are ashamed of. This... this is your first step. Understanding, and... letting me help you. This is how you _excel_.” 

He’s not sure where the knowledge comes from, but it swells in him all of a sudden, flooding him with certainty and purpose. He sees something like epiphany on Hux’s face, and then there’s hands clawing at his jaw as he’s kissed breathless and empty. 

It’s true. It’s true, and it’s taken him all this time to know it.

***

Ben watches Adrian sleeping. His face looks weird when he’s not ‘behind’ it, and it’s sort of... teeth-rottingly adorable. He just. He looks so calm, and then he’ll mumble something, frown, and then go back to the little snorting sounds. 

Help. He’s in _love_.

He has to be, to find watching his slumbering face so damn... great. To want to just lie there and hear him breathe, knowing he’s still alive. To be happy in silence, curled up with him, in his bed. 

Beside a table filled with more mugs. Does he ever do the dishes?

In bed. With him. In his home. Curled up under the covers, feeling the warmth of him... wanting not to wake him, but also wanting him to stir, and smile. It’s painful, but it’s a good pain.

His mind keeps being torn between the calm of here, and the turmoil of _there_. He wonders if it’s his mind processing through things it’s not yet on top of, or if it’s... something else? Self-sabotaging? 

Kylo and Hux had been getting on so well. Chaste, but well. Now his libido’s made things difficult for them, and he feels a churning guilt over it. Has he ruined it for them?

***

Hux’s expression moves like the inside of an asteroid belt. “You’re saying that to shut me up.”

“I’m not.”

“And that.”

“I’m _not_. But you’ll only believe me if you want to... and I _wish_ you would, Hux. You... are incredible. And... and I’m sorry you feel... feel like you’re something lesser without the Force...”

“I didn’t say _that_.”

“But you wish you had it.”

His lips twist, and he tries to roll out and away, but Kylo puts a hand on his waist, asking him to stay. 

“Can you blame me?”

“No,” he admits. “I’ve spent my life knowing people hate me for who and what I am. For what I have, that they don’t. I... was hurt... when I was younger. I didn’t know why people would hate me for something I had no control over.”

“You’re asking me to feel sorry for you for being over-privileged?”

“I’m asking you to feel sorry for a child who was excluded because he was different. Who was never allowed to forget that. Who could never really make friends... even if he could float furniture around.”

A pause. “You think the child of a Commandant had many friends?”

“No. But just because we both of us had it wrong... it doesn’t make it right for either of us. I can’t _stop_ having the Force. But I _can_ use it in ways that make your life better, not worse.”

Hux’s head turns. “How?”

“Plenty of ways,” Kylo replies. “I can keep you from being bored during management meetings.”

Hux snorts. “I _like_ management meetings.”

“I know.” Kylo shows a flash of teeth. “I can fetch things when we have our hands full. I can tell if someone’s coming and we need to stop kissing in the closet.”

“...we’ve never kissed in a closet, Kylo.”

“Not _yet_.” He holds out hope. “I can... take away pain. I can use the Force like a hand. I can read your mind if you can’t speak, or tell you things if _I_ can’t. I can strengthen your position in the First Order...”

“Such a master diplomat,” he teases back, but with slightly more of a smile, now. 

Kylo hides the wince at the memory. “Once, perhaps.”

“You’ve managed to turn my ‘weakness’ into my strength... and offer your services to me.”

Kylo shrugs. “You are more than what you can, or can’t do with the Force, Hux. And I’m... glad we had this discussion. I don’t want you to resent me. Envy me, yes, but not resent me.”

“...you... don’t think I’m... pathetic?”

“Why? I envy you your calm, your... way with people. Envying others is _normal_.” He tells himself this over and over, pushing away that treacherous Jedi whisper in his ear. 

It’s normal. He’s normal. As normal... as it gets.

“You won’t start reading my mind?”

“Not unless I fear for your safety, or you expressly permit it.”

Hux nods. “Alright. But keep the... talking to a minimum. As and when...”

“As and when.”

Hux pauses, and then pushes at Kylo’s shoulders, sending him onto his back. He lifts a leg – still tangled in his pyjamas – and then crouches over his thighs. “Don’t we have unfinished business?”

Kylo looks down. Hux’s interest has flagged a little, but not entirely. His own probably suffered more, but it will soon recover, he’s sure. He reaches down, finding his cock, and smiles as Hux shuffles so they line up together. 

He looks so damned _intent_. So... determined.

It’s freaking. Adorable. 

“Now you know my deepest, darkest secret,” Hux whispers, with a forced layer of jollity and self-mockery, even though Kylo knows it to be true.

Hux’s drive for power – his hungry _need_ – is no surprise. His insecurity... well. That would surprise some, those who are taken in by the veneer he paints over it...

...but Hux’s own self-awareness is another thing entirely. Knowing that _Hux_ knows he’s jealous, even of his own partner, and wishes he wasn’t? 

“Trust me, I still love you.”

Oh. Right. He hasn’t said that before, has he? But... now he has, he knows it’s true. He does love him. He wouldn’t _ever_ let someone this close, let them make him _feel_ so much, if he didn’t. 

Hux goes from marble white to blazing main-sequence red in a heartbeat. His fingers claw into Kylo’s shoulders, and he starts to thrust into his hand. 

“...s-say that again,” Hux begs.

Begs. No two ways about it.

“I love you,” Kylo growls back at him, his voice suddenly as heavy as a ship that’s lost all thrust. “I do.”

“... _shit_.”

Most people would react badly to that. To having ‘shit’ thrown at them when they confess their love, but the haunted, starving look on his face... 

“I do. I do.”

Hux’s nails sting, and his head tosses as he thrusts into Kylo’s palm. He’s holding them both, enjoying the silky strength of the shaft rubbing against his own, and he twists and turns as hard as he can. Hux is going pink in all sorts of interesting places, making garbled noises as he ruts, his thighs tensing and his jaw slamming tight shut.

“You’re incredible. Incredible, smart, strong, and all mine.” He means it, too. Means every last word.

To his lack of surprise, that’s enough to send Hux over the edge, and his climax hits with another clenching, grunting spasm. He comes with a low cry, and then a shudder, and his load spurts over Kylo’s fist, and over his night clothes. 

He isn’t far behind, adding his own sticky emissions to the first, his balls aching and his toes curling. Oh stars. Oh _stars_. 

Hux stares down at him like he’s insane, his mouth moving, but slamming back shut again. 

“...do you want me to listen to your thoughts?” Kylo asks. 

A nod, and he takes the invitation. The wordless reassurance, the happy, awe-struck wonder. Hux loves him, too. Everything is going right, at long last.

He chooses not to think about tomorrow. Not when they’re both sticky and happy. Hux shoves at him, making him move so he can lie down better, and nuzzles at his throat. He loves him. They can work out the rest as they go along.  


	15. Chapter 15

They catch a lift back to Ben’s parents’ place together, and when they arrive...

“Mom, you’re supposed to be in _bed_.”

“If I only did what I was _supposed_ to do, I would never have married your father, or run for office,” she clucks at him, her wrinkled face turning all the more lined at his chiding. She’s always been better at looking after others than herself.

“It is lovely to see you up and on your feet, if your doctor agrees,” Adrian tries.

“Don’t you start with the bullshit diplomatic insults, I wrote the _book_ on them when you were still sticking magnetic letters to the fridge, young man.”

That’s the first time Mom’s used that tone on Adrian, and Ben... something kind of... He glances across, worried. Is this the start of things becoming awkward? A boss from hell turned in-law, potentially? A sudden realisation that family and work can’t mingle?

But instead of anything negative, all he sees is compassion and a wry self-awareness, something a little more human than Adrian normally presents. No, it’s not fair to say he’s normally _in_ human, but this is personal, and normally it’s professional. 

“Would you like to discuss the strategy for your phased return over tea?”

“It depends... are you going to treat my first, and only son well?”

“ _MOM_.”

“I believed I had already passed your rigorous background checks before starting my employment with you.” 

Oh, he’s smooth. Ben kind of hates it, and is also oddly aroused, too. But then his mom is in the room, so no. 

“The requirements to date my son are stricter than even those to become President of these United States.” 

“I don’t even get a say in this?” He glances between them.

“Honey, that’s sweet. Go and start making the tea,” Leia croons. “Your mother is still an invalid.”

So invalid, in fact, that she can torment him about his private life, and work... but sure. He rolls his eyes, and slopes off. 

Tea. Who even drinks tea?

***

Ben comes to the realisation in the kitchen that _Adrian drinks tea_. As a rule, or at least often enough. Those mugs littered around his home... tea-mugs? Not coffee-mugs?

It makes no difference, really, but the fact is somehow warming. He’s dating someone who drinks tea, as well as lattes. It’s a ridiculous stereotype, but it’s... based on some factual background, isn’t it? 

He prods the bag with his spoon, wondering how he’d know when it’s ready. Also, why does Mom now have tea bags? For Adrian. 

He makes a third mug of tea, and adds milk to varying degrees so he can offer the tray and people can take which suits. And he can try one. Maybe he’ll learn to love tea, too?

***

Once they’re spent, Hux just sort of... huddles against him, hiding his face in his neck like he’s embarrassed. They’re sticky, and happy, and Kylo is absolutely scared out of his mind. 

This... could... be it. He knows Hux liked what they did – and so did he – but... is it too much? Sure he’s been _living_ with him for weeks, sharing a bed, but... this?

“It was... heat of the moment,” Hux whispers, barely loud enough to hear. “I’ll understand if... I’ll understand.”

“...what is there to understand?”

“You... it’s not—“

Kylo slips a finger under his chin. He pushes against his mind, very openly, very gently. _May I?_

A slight dilation of the pupils, a parting of the lips, a nod. Kylo pushes in, and formless, wordless fear is there, until Hux’s mind tries to push him out in self-defence.

“You think I didn’t mean it?”

“Shut up.”

“Hux...”

“I said—“

Kylo knows he should ask permission, or give a warning, but he can’t. He can’t let Hux’s pathetic (yes, he’s thought it, now) insecurity throw this to the wind without giving it a chance. With a glazing of his eyes, he pushes his sense of self... _inside_.

All the way inside. Sliding over memories from another angle, recounting the way his hair had looked, the recollections coloured by his own emotions. Emotions he doesn’t hold back on, either: the longing, the aching, the relief, the incredulity that he’s got this, that he’s worthy of this... a sense of joy, of shaking off something dark, damp, heavy... a longing, a loving. 

He presses it all into him, making him feel _just_ how Kylo feels. How he’s terrified of losing him, to anything. Anything.

“You c-can’t... you _can’t_.”

“Why not?” Kylo asks, and tries to capture his lips for a kiss. Slow, slow and gentle. 

Hux’s nails knick into his shoulders, a sharp sting that grounds him fully. He’s still inside his head, but he can feel everywhere his body _is_ again. 

“You just can’t.”

“Isn’t who I love my choice, not yours?”

Hux – unlike him – pulls him in for a hurried hug, and they wind up tangled in fierce, shaking touches. He keeps pouring out an ever-deepening affection and protective fire, keeps rushing his emotional responses in. 

“I’m not... made to be loved,” Hux admits, eventually.

“Anyone can be loved,” Kylo insists. “They just need to find the right person.”

Hux is his person. Kylo can’t imagine anyone else.

***

Ben startles when someone moves behind him, and he wonders how long he was spaced out. His face feels hot from the daydreamed confession, and the rushed, hungry kisses. 

They still haven’t said the l-word. His weird, socially stunted alter-ego has gotten further than him. Is it a trial run, or...

“Kid, you got it bad.”

Ben’s felt weird around his dad since he’d put together his patricide in the other world. He feels like a traitor, and he has... has no reason to hate his father.

To be fair, he’s pretty sure hate wasn’t what motivated _Kylo_ , not really, but knowing something in him thinks about slaughtering his own father isn’t comfortable to live with. And he’s been avoiding being alone with him since, just because of some strange panic that maybe his Knight-side will come out and say what _it_ thinks.

“Huh?”

“Ben, I can tell.”

“...what, exactly?” Han Solo has never been one to actually shoot straight from the hip, it’s always there but under the faintest level of obscuring talk. Probably why he keeps up with Mom, he suspects.

“You’re not as subtle as you like to think. Do I gotta make the Shovel Speech?”

I killed you. Hux would do the same, too.

But it’s not Hux. It’s _Adrian_.  

“Dad, you’re supposed to give _him_ that talk.”

“...well, that’s what I meant.” Han will argue he meant what he needed to have said until he’s blue in the face, Ben knows. 

“Yes. I like him a lot. And we want to make this work.”

“He’s a bit—“

“What? Too good for me?” Okay, that’s Kylo, is it? Ben isn’t sure, but he’s definitely feeling antsy, suddenly. 

“I was gonna say ‘stuffy’, but then, I married your mom.”

“...Adrian is not like Mom, Dad.”

“Sure.”

“And I’m not like you!”

“Look, I... if he’s right for you, then... I’m glad. You been stuck in that apartment alone for too long, that’s... that’s all. And if you wanted someone to talk about it with... I know I’m not your mom, but...”

Shit. Han – _Dad_ – is trying to be supportive, and all Ben can think is negative stuff? What’s wrong with him? He presses his eyelids together, feeling every place they touch, conscious of the feel below them as his eyes roll in an attempt to bring himself back level.

“I’m... sorry.”

He’s always been emotional, that’s just who he is. He’s never really gotten along as well with his father as he has with his mother, and Ben can’t really say _why_ , just that it’s one of those things. He also isn’t the best at apologising, but he feels he should.

“I know I haven’t exactly been the best... but you... you know I love you, don’t you?”

Shit. Shit. _S H I T_. Han rarely talks about it like that – not in years – and for him to say it...

“Yeah,” Ben croaks. “I know. It’s just... hard to talk about this... with anyone.”

“You know I don’t have a problem with... you know?”

Ben assumes that means the part where Adrian is _also_ male. “Yeah, I know.”

“I’d be the same about a lady-friend. Except maybe tell you more about contraception.”

“...I think I know condoms exist by now,” Ben snorts in response. 

“Ha, ha. Laugh it up, kid. You wait ‘til you give me grandkids and they sass you, too.”

“...not likely any time in the short term, but I could adopt a cat for you?”

Han clucks his tongue to his palate. “Let’s get our better halves watered. We want them happy with us, don’t we?”

Ben nods. He feels oddly not quite resolved, but at least they’ve spoken, and he hasn’t run away. It’s a start.

***

When they finally make it out of bed that day, out of the shower, and away from the sporadic rapid-fire kisses...  Kylo feels... oddly... different.

Should he? It’s just sex. It’s just a physical release, and one they shared. In many ways, getting undressed in front of one another and falling asleep together was more risky, but...

It’s not that, is it? It’s the other thing. It’s that he said the _word_ , and he meant it. He told Hux he loves him. Over and over. He told him because it’s true, not just to get to the happy ending. He’s told him, because he’s in love with him, and it’s real, and he’s happy, and they’re both happy, and he wants to just – keep on being happy!

Hux is the first person he’s ever really trusted in his whole adult life. The only person he’d ever think to open up to. The only one he’d ever consider being up-front and honest with... and the only person he could ever imagine wanting to stay with.

And he does. He wants this, forever.

Hux goes off to work, and Kylo feels like he’s inhaled lighter-than-air gases. He wants to run around laughing (except not), and he wants to pull at his hair and he wants to sing and he wants to... everything. Just. _Everything_. 

He’s aware he wants to go too fast, now. Wants to push through, wants... wants this really real. Acknowledged, confessed, arranged, solidified. Despite himself, he wants... he wants to propose.

Which part of him says is insane. Hux only just heard Kylo loves him, hasn’t really reciprocated definitively, and they just had sex. Hux will laugh at him for being cock-hungry, or something, and what if he doesn’t want that? Or what if he’s not sure yet? Or what if he’s decided this is a short-term feature?

All of these things weigh on him like a Star Destroyer across the shoulders.

There’s no _need_ to do anything formal. It changes nothing, specifically. No rights, no... real difference. But somehow, he wants it.

And he wants to not scare him away, but now the thought is in his head, how will he ever get it out without saying it?


	16. Chapter 16

Ben can’t draw.

He just. He can’t. 

He forces out things for clients, and he hates them. More than his usual, background level of hatred for his own work, the one that kicks in five minutes after he’s finished (if he’s lucky enough to finish). No, this is the kind of hatred that means every minor revision request (can you make the S a bit more pointy?) (can you change for this indistinguishably different shade of blue because I want to look like I’m contributing?) (can you make it... better?) sends his blood pressure through the roof. 

And it’s unfair of him to want to punch everyone through the screen, but he does.

He does his dayjob and then he watches something mindless on TV for a while. Then he ignores the fact his sketchpad and his tablet are lying dormant, screaming for attention.

It’s not that he doesn’t _want_ to draw. He does. He wants to draw in that restless way that sort of hums through his veins and his bones. That screams out for his hands to _act_ , but when he goes near a canvas of any kind... it’s just that screaming, without anything to... do.

He just. Can’t. 

And after the first week of staring at white or off-white rectangles, unable to decide anything to draw... he’s taken to watching shitty programming and texting Adrian.

Texting Adrian is no hardship, truth be told. He’s usually working late now Mom is back on the job, but so long as they keep the sexy side of it low key, it’s fine. And half the time it’s just dumb jokes and whatever Ben’s seen that made him laugh, or whatever gem his mother’s come out with. 

It’s just...

He wants to be drawing, but the wanting is driving him crazy. He’ll even go for walks around the block just to get some fresh air and distance from the knowledge that he’s failing.

Usually, he’d be doodling pretty much any time. Long phone calls, and he’d have a pen in hand. In a coffee shop, and the napkins would become miniature sandboxes for his imagination. Anything and everything was fair game, but right now... 

Is it because his other self is happy? Or is it because his other self is... itching to propose?

It’s absolutely ridiculous, and Ben wishes he could stop thinking about it. Adrian is obviously at least partially domesticated, white picket fence and all. He looks like the type of man who would settle down, and maybe not mind an eccentric, work-from-home house-husband. Marriage is way, way down the line, though, and he needs to not let his... compulsive inner life rule the roost.

At least he isn’t drawing them in wedding dresses. He’s not sure how Adrian would take to that, even if he explained it was ‘Hux’, and not him.

Adrian’s asked about ‘them’ a few times, but what can Ben tell him? Not much, not really. 

He can see them as clear as his own reflection in the mirror. He knows what they’re doing. He knows _precisely_ what they’re doing. But he can’t – for the life of him – commit a single line down.

Even ships. And ships were always his go-to destress. Straight lines and sharp angles. Something hypnotic about drawing something so well-designed, inorganic and efficient.

No.

Even ships don’t work.

He grabs his jacket, and goes out for another walk. 

***

How do you tell your neurotic lover that you’ve decided you’re going to be together forever? This is the most pressing question in all of Kylo Ren’s life to date. 

“Hello—“ No, you don’t greet your beloved like that.

“Gree—“ Worse.

“So, did you know I’m so madly in love with you that I want to spend the rest of my life with you?”

Maybe the best of a bad lot, but Kylo can’t bring himself to say it. 

And it’s killing him.

He can see the worry in the crease between Hux’s eyebrows, the twitch in his jawline. He can tell Kylo is holding something back, and no amount of ‘don’t worry’s will ease that. 

Yeah. Only he could turn his utter devotion so inside out that it’s starting to make Hux feel uncertain he’s loved enough.

Force, but he’s fucked up.

***

Ben can’t get the nose right. He’s drawn Hux’s face over and over for – well – it feels like forever. But now he knows it intimately, for some reason he can no longer _draw_ it. And drawing has _always_ been how he made sense of the world: how he understood it, processed it, appreciated it, memorised it. 

Art. It’s. It’s just how his _brain_ works. That’s all there is to it: he’s an artist, and he can’t draw. That means he’s less than nothing. He’s just...

An –ist. 

He scrunches up the paper and hurls it at the door, only to hit Adrian square in the chest.

Guiltily, Ben puts his pens back in nib order, avoiding his eyes. “Home early.”

“I managed to convince your mother to go for her checkup at last, so yes, I’m early.”

“It didn’t go as planned?”

“I plan for Sharknados, Ben. That way anything that does happen is less terrifying.”

“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Ben... a tornado. Of sharks.”

“...it was funnier the first time, I promise.”

“It was pretty funny the time I saw it,” Adrian replies, beatifically. “But she’s gone to see the doctor, with the least amount of fuss and complications possible. I had to remind her that losing days later on, when the position is more hotly contested, would be detrimental to her campaign. That now was the optimal time to stabilise her condition.”

“I bet you used those words, too, didn’t you?”

“...or thereabouts, yes.”

Ben pushes the last pen over his ear, lacing his fingers over his lap to try to keep them from fidgeting so badly. He wants to make a quip, but—

“Is something wrong?” Adrian asks, putting his phone onto the charge point, snuggling his way out of his shoes in the way that will ruin the backs of them if he’s not careful.

Ben isn’t sure why that detail strikes him so sharply, but it does. Like a hum you didn’t recognise until someone points it out, thereafter impossible to tune out. “No.”

“You say ‘no’ like you mean it’s ‘yes’... Ben... would you rather I don’t push? If you’d just like to—“

“I can’t – I can’t... _draw anything_.”

But Adrian would never understand that, would he? How could he. He wasn’t an artist, and didn’t feel the artist’s burning, aching need to create. Didn’t understand how it could be like something inside him was dead, or dying, or—

“Nothing?”

“Nothing I _want_ to.”

“...what do you want to?”

“ _I don’t know_ ,” he snaps, sharper than he intended by far. “Look... I... I just can’t. I want to, but whatever I try looks wrong. And – and – I don’t know _what_ to draw.”

Adrian sits down carefully, his thumbs pricking at the fabric around his knees, getting the seams to fall right. He seems to be thinking it through closely, and watching his face move over his inner thoughts is... eerily familiar and unsettling in one. 

“Is it because... we’re together?”

“Why would—“

“The other ‘us’. The... ones in your... dreams? Daydreams?”

It’s hard to actually give it a real name. “They are together, too.”

“And this means you can’t draw... why?”

“If I knew, don’t you think I’d fix the problem?” Ben digs his nails into his thighs, through his worn-down jeans. “I’m... not trying to be argumentative, or contrary, or... rude... it’s...”

“Important to you,” Adrian concludes. “I can’t understand, not really, but I can... empathise? Has this happened before?”

Ben sort of... freezes for a moment, and then shakes his head. “No.” No. Right?

“I see. Have you looked into reasons why? Or tried another topic? Or tried giving it a break?”

He shouldn’t be getting angry, but it’s the frustration, more than anything else. He tastes the insides of his lips, jamming his eyes so tight it hurts for a moment. “I tried everything I can think of. I just... can’t... draw. Anything. Either I don’t know what, or I can’t work out... _how_.”

To his surprise, Adrian walks around, and cups his face in both hands. He tilts it up, and smiles sadly down at him. “You are more than just your art, though if it’s something you love... I can see how being stuck would be hard for you.”

Ben pushes his head into Adrian’s chest, wanting to feel held on all angles. “I don’t want to talk about it any more today.”

“...can I ask...?”

Ben winces.

“What?”

“...are we – they – happy?”

He thinks about it for a moment, looking for any lie. “Incredibly.”

“Then that’s good enough for me.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for distressing content.

So he can’t draw. Fine. He can still do plenty of other things, like...

He can. Okay. It’s _fine_. 

It’s making their relationship strain at the seams, and Ben wonders if maybe he’s just not wired up to really feel happy long term. Why else would he be so miserable, at the same time as so happy? He’s got a loving, caring, smart and witty partner. He’s _incredible_ in bed (to the point where Ben’s waddling the next day), and he’s not at all psychotic, weird, or flakey. He’s... well, he’s the kind of boyfriend he’d be able to bring home to meet the parents if _he didn’t already work for them_.

His life is great, really. Regular, very, very torrid sex. Couch cuddles. Movie nights. Snuggling in bed. Having someone to talk to. It’s all so perfect that he keeps wondering when the other shoe will drop: when... when it will go wrong. When Adrian will realise he’s too fucked up, or too boring, or too emotional, or too...

It’s just art. It’s nothing _really_ important. Just. Stupid doodles...

Ben doesn’t want to end up resenting him, but ever since they got together – both of them – he’s... he’s lost something.

And he doesn’t know how to handle that at all.

***

“Something is bothering you,” Hux says, delicately pushing hair back from Kylo’s face. 

Little by little, day by day, he’s slowly warming to Kylo’s presence, and Kylo to his. He doesn’t flinch when fingers touch his face, his shoulder, his back... he likes them. There’s still that trickle of excitement that’s almost fear, but he’s okay. 

Other than the ‘thing’. Which Hux keeps edging around, until he can’t take it any longer and he pushes him, again.

“It’s... nothing.” It’s the fact his ‘dream’ reality is somehow falling apart, even as his goes well. Maybe _because_ his is going so well?

“It’s something. You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

Kylo scrunches his nose, in disgust and... distress. How long will he be able to hold out without telling him? How long can he push him away, before he admits he isn’t really sure? “It’s...” How does he say anything? “I’m just not used to... this.”

“You want to s—“

Kylo grabs his hand, holding fiercely on as he bores holes through his skull with his eyes. “No. _No_. I’m just... not used to... being happy,” he concludes. “I am. Happy. With you.”

“Are you certain?” Hux asks, not pulling his wrist away, though Kylo can tell the restriction is bordering on uncomfortable for him. 

“I’m certain. I’m just...” He brushes lightly against his mind, asking permission. When there’s a slight nod, the next words are not spoken aloud. _I am afraid._

_Of what?_

_Of... losing you._

He is. Everyone he’s ever been attached to... he’s either left (or killed), or they’ve pushed him aside. And Hux is someone he _can’t_ lose... he just can’t. The sudden cold fear makes his insides knot up like a Nar Shaddah flight path, and he has to rush to his feet, grabbing Hux’s face and kissing him with all the pent-up fear in him.

Hux isn’t used to communicating wordlessly – not through the Force – so it’s just pure alarm and then delight tinged with worry that Kylo feels as he forces his tongue into his mouth. With some effort, he shoves at Hux until the man staggers backwards, hitting the table with a muffled _yelp_.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Hux promises, even as Kylo keeps pushing him, one hand now around his jaw (almost sliding down to his throat), the other grabbing his thigh, behind the knee, bending it up and around his waist.

They haven’t _fucked_. They’ve sucked, touched, rubbed... screwed between closed thighs... but neither one of them has penetrated the other, not really. 

“You might not have a choice,” he points out, his hands swapping position. 

Hux doesn’t fight it, letting Kylo seat him on the table, letting his legs be wrapped around his waist. His own arms rest on Kylo’s shoulders, his fingers tangling in his hair. 

“I will do everything in my power not to leave you.”

“Hux—“

“I mean it, Ky.” The shortened name has never happened before.

It – it does something. Kylo holds his lover’s hips, and thrusts between his thighs, just blindly rutting. 

“I’m not joking. I – do love you. To an obscene level.” Hux loves to hear it, but he isn’t as good at saying it. 

Kylo’s taken that on the chin, until now. He’s figured he’ll tell him when he’s ready, and when their eyes meet...

“I want to stay with you for the rest of my life.”

“I know, I—“

“Hux, let me finish?” Kylo pleads.

“...alright?”

“I mean it. I – I can’t think about anything but how much I love you, how – how much you make me smile. I want – I want – to be with you forever, and—“

Hux clutches at his locks, and pushes their foreheads together. “I know. You can just say it.”

Why can’t he? Kylo chokes on his breath, and then suddenly Hux flips, performing some kind of acrobatic that leaves _Kylo_ sitting on the edge of the table. 

“Say it.”

“Hux—“

“Say. _It_.” 

Hands push at his clothing, stripping his chest. Hux’s mouth drops to his neck, biting roughly and suckling so hard it must be bruising. The blood rushes to the area, and he groans in pleasure. 

“...if you keep doing that...”

Hux’s hands scratch at his chest, between layers of parted cloth. He’s growling and marking him like a wild animal, and Kylo’s hands go to Hux’s ass, trying to get him to rub harder in his lap. 

“I want to hear it.”

“Fuck me.” Kylo wasn’t intending on saying that, but he’s said it now. And – and – he wants it. He wants to feel Hux inside of him. Wants that connection, wants... to be utterly open with him, so open he’ll surrender even his bodily autonomy.

Well, not completely, but enough to be thrillingly keen. He pulls his full lower lip in, looking up.

“That’s what you’ve been so skittish about?” Hux’s feet slide down to the ground, and he steps between Kylo’s parted knees. “You wanted to ask me to fuck you?”

Some of it. He nods, and then lifts his brows in surprise as Hux removes his own belt, holding it up to one of the Knight’s wrists. There’s a pause as they silently check and recheck, and then Hux winds it around his hands, putting the very end in his palm. Kylo could get out if he really wanted to, but he doesn’t, not yet. 

“You thought I might say no?”

 _I thought I might like it_. He is going to keep using that until the end of the evening, or Hux indicates he wants him to stop. Sometimes it’s easier to admit a thing when you don’t have to open your mouth to say it. 

“I should hope you do,” Hux snorts, and his hands move to finally expose his chest properly, hands over his head, the taut belly twitching above his cock. 

It isn’t wrong, is it? The part of him that needs to be in control is screaming at him. Sure, he has the Force. Sure, he’s strong and smart and fast... but he wants this. For some reason, he wants it. 

_I need it._

Hux is going to be disgusted by him, isn’t he? Kylo Ren, Knight of the First Order and Order of Ren... wanting to be tied down and made to take it like a hungry, slutty bitch. But he parts his legs and exposes himself in submission, wondering if this means he’s... what?

_I love you._

“Say it aloud.”

Hux’s voice is sharp, and the pinch of his command _does_ something. Kylo pushes his hands higher, eyes closing.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I have done for the longest time.”

“If you loved me – truly loved me – would you keep things back from me?”

A dangerous question indeed, and Kylo doesn’t truly know the answer. He squirms, uncomfortable. Should he?

“I don’t...?”

“You want me to fuck you, and you won’t admit it?”

It’s – wrong? Is it? Not the being fucked, or is it? Or just the being held down, or...

“It... is more than that.”

Sharp fingers press around his waist, pinching tightly. “Tell me.”

It’s both arousing and disgusting, and confusing the life out of him. Kylo squirms, feeling pink and swollen all over his body. “I... I... w-want to marry you, so... so... you never leave and you know... how m-much I love you... and...” 

His legs are shunted wide, and Kylo groans in blissful pain.

“...I want everyone to know I’m yours and you’re mine... I... I want you to hurt me and love me and fuck me and hold me and kiss me and scratch me bloody and stroke my hair and I want to do whatever makes you smile and happy and I love you so much I can’t _think right_ —“

They’ve used lube, of course. Making it easier to jerk off, teasing over balls, stroking around a hole and never going in. It’s still a surprise that Hux has somehow managed to move his hands and get some, pulling Kylo’s pants down and shoving fingers towards his entrance. 

The fabric is by his knees, and this position isn’t really ideal, but Kylo lifts his hips and lets Hux drag his pants lower still, his middle finger pushing abruptly into him. 

It does hurt. Not like agony hurt, but like – something strange and not quite right. He blinks in confusion.

_You aren’t—_

“Aloud.”

Kylo shakes his head, then turns it to push his nose against his arm. He can’t hear how his voice will break. 

The finger penetrates him, just to the first knuckle, and whilst it sort of stings, it’s a good sting. He’s not going too hard, or too fast, but Kylo is still out of control. He bucks and thrashes, and realises that’s making it hurt more, and then the hand on his belly stops him more effectively than the Force  wrapped around his mind ever could. 

“You want this,” Hux reminds him. 

“I’m afraid,” Kylo admits. He is. 

“You want me to push you through the fear, don’t you?”

Alone, he might never. He might never be able to get past the barrier inside of him. Why is it even there? It’s just... nonsense. Physical intimacy of a different kind. He won’t be defiled, or injured, or left carrying a child he didn’t plan for. He won’t be visibly different... so...

“What if I love you more than you love me?” Kylo asks, at last.

“Look into my mind. Look _deep_ into my mind. Go as far as you can go, my Knight. Go into me, as I’m inside of you.”

It is wrong to go that deep into someone’s mind. Kylo’s had his own mind entered so many times now that he’s not sure he’d really know if someone strong enough pushed inside. He’s never sure if the things he thinks are himself, or Snoke... or even if it matters.

But Hux has asked him to, invited him to. 

So he swallows and does.

***

Ben can’t take it, he just – he can’t. 

They’re kissing on the couch, but – something is wrong. Fundamentally, brutally, dangerously wrong. He pushed Adrian back, his hands shaking.

“Ben?”

“I... I just need a minute...”

His legs barely work as he staggers towards the bathroom, not feeling sick, just... his knees are buckling, and he wants to throw up. Not because he feels sick, but because he feels like there’s something inside of him that he needs to get _out_. 

Hands on the cool tiles, and he wavers above the toilet, hoping this is just some bug (and knowing it isn’t).

“Ben?”

Adrian’s by the door, and Ben can’t turn to face him. “I’m... okay.”

“I can hold your hair back.”

The offer is so soft, so caring, that Ben sinks to his knees and starts to cry. It’s just one thing too much, and he’s aware his kneecaps hit the floor rather hard, but he can’t do anything but sob. 

Adrian kneels behind him, dutifully holding back his hair. He’s a wreck, and suddenly he doesn’t even want that, lashing out until the man steps away, and then he feels _worse_ , and he starts to throw up.

***

Two fingers in him and Kylo is absolutely out of his head. It’s horrible, but wonderful, and he wants it, but he doesn’t. His cock doesn’t know if it should be up or down, and it’s only the unrelenting love and affection he can _feel_ bathing him that keeps him from freaking out completely.

Hux loves him. Hux _loves him_. Loves him just as much, and is worried he’s doing the wrong thing. That makes it easier, and the fingers spread, his body pulsing around them. He grunts, and presses down.

Suddenly it seems to make sense, and the pressure inside is a hot, bright spark. He whines, and bounces on Hux’s hand.

“Fuck me, please fuck me!”

“You want it?”

“I want it, I want it!”

Kylo pushes as hard as he can down onto Hux’s hand, and wails when the fingers leave him. He doesn’t have long to wait for a thicker, rounder penetration... Hux’s cockhead breaching his hole. 

Shit damn fuck hell kriff and everything between. He stares up at him, and knows Hux loves him back. 

“Please,” he begs.

Hux nods, and fucks him until he’s screaming. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: distressing subject matter

It’s a while before Ben can stop throwing up. He’s... he’s... it’s... 

There’s nothing _wrong_ with being fucked. He fucks people, and they like it, so this is insane. It’s not even like they were doing it, it’s just his stupid subconscious fantasising about it and then being disgusted with himself. It’s stupid. 

He isn’t sure why it’s so horrific a concept, especially when he knows how much Hux enjoys riding him. It isn’t painful, but he – when he thinks about it...

The weirdly patterned blanket that curls around his shoulders like a shawl is comforting in a familiarity that isn’t his own. The material is bobbled and there’s a few missing tassels from one side, and it smells of being washed and cared for over years. His fingers twirl in the fronds, and he doesn’t trust his hands to lift the warm mug he’s nursing on his lap just yet. Plus, he’d likely scorch his tongue and lips. 

Adrian is sitting awkwardly at the other end of the couch, not touching him, but looking like he wants to. Ben... Ben wants the universe to implode, please. 

It’s not that he doesn’t _want_ him to touch him, he **does**. He craves the contact so intensely it feels like the bellyache of extreme hunger, but when he _does_ touch him, all of a sudden it’s too much. It’s too intense, like he’s been turned inside out, and his body doesn’t know what’s normal any more.

Stupid. It’s all stupid. 

“Ben... did... did I do something wrong?”

What, exist, and be awesome, and be too good for him? Ben curls up into a smaller ball, which isn’t easy when you’re as tall as he is. “No. I – it...” I’m insane. I’m going literally insane. I have an entire second life in my head where you’re committing political ‘cleansing’, and I murdered my own father. 

Yeah.

“Would you prefer I talk about it, or... not? Do you want me to call someone, or...?”

No, he doesn’t want anyone else knowing. His head snaps up with panic writ large across his face. “No!”

“I want to help, but I don’t know... how?”

“I don’t know either.” That’s the worst part. He would cry, but he feels like a dishcloth that’s mopped up foul liquids, squeezed out the water, and left him covered in the filth. He feels... drained. 

“Do you want me to try things, and if they work, I keep doing them... and if they don’t, I stop?”

Ben knows he has to do something, that he can’t just let this – whatever it is – last. So he carefully moves closer, taking it at his own pace, and lying himself slowly down so his head rests on Adrian’s lap. It’s a bit better if he does the moving, not the other way around, so he copes when a hand pulls some hair back from his face, tucking it behind an ear.

“You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

“Ben... don’t you think I already know you’re a little mad?”

“Yeah, but this... it’s...” You’ll laugh. You’ll be horrified. You’ll dump me. I’ll have said it and then someone will know. “I’m afraid to tell you.”

“Would you rather tell someone else? Like... like... someone professional?”

“So you do think I’m crazy.”

“No, Ben, I—I have no frame of reference for this. I know people say you Americans are always seeing therapists, but really... some people benefit from it.”

“I’m not crazy!”

“You don’t need to _be_ crazy to ask for help. Surely you ask before you end up that ill?”

Ben grits his teeth. Hard. So hard he can feel the places where the join isn’t quite right, and he runs his tongue along the inside of his bite. “I... am... worried. About. My... imagination.”

“Your... other world?”

It’s fucked up. Yes, he’s an artist, and artists have to see what isn’t there (and should be) as much as what _is_ , but... the degree to which he _feels_ that other world is distressing. “It never used to bother me. I don’t know if it’s because suddenly I feel like I’m having two relationships, or – or – _what_ , but... what if I am mad?”

The hand moves back to his hair, softly grooming him from the scalp down, the gesture clearly automatic because Adrian’s expression (odd from below) is lost in thought. “You didn’t have this before?”

“Well, it was just – doodles. And a weird little thought experiment type thing. I thought. But – Ade – over there... I’m not sure we aren’t the bad guys.”

There. Shit. Fuck. Damn. Crap.

“Why do you think that?”

“You blew up like, five planets. Six. I don’t know. I was pissed off with – I mean _he_ was pissed off with other-you.”

Yeah okay he is insane. 

“...why did I blow up planets?”

“Ideology.”

“I... see?”

“I’m not entirely sure why, but you hate the politics over there. And my mom. You hate her and the Resistance and the Republic.”

“...and you?”

“I – well – I kind of hate her, but also not, and then... then... I killed Dad. Han. I killed him, over there.”

It doesn’t sound any better aloud than it did in his head. Jesus, what’s wrong with him? Why would he fantasise about such a thing?

“Ben... I... I’ve got to ask.”

He doesn’t move. Not even to breathe.

“Did...”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“ _No_.” He knows what Adrian is thinking, and he shakes his head. “No. No. Nothing.”

“Okay. If – if something had... if you wouldn’t tell me, I understand, but I think—“

“My parents didn’t do anything to me! What the fuck?” He’s up, and on his feet, blanket trailing down one shoulder as he fights to pull it back. “Why would you say that? Why? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I... I just thought with you... with you... nevermind.”

“No.” Ben hefts the side of the comforter. “What?”

“If you wanted – in some way – to kill your father... well. Freud’s theories were poopooed a long time ago...”

“You’re saying I’ve got some Oedipus complex and I want to fuck my mom?” 

“...I’m... no. I’m not saying... Ben, I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I’m sorry. I have no... I just want to help you.”

“I think... I think...” He thought he needed to be alone, but now the idea of just being stuck in here with his own thoughts... “I want to forget about it. Can we just... can you hold me?”

“Of course. Whatever you need.”

He needs a new brain.

***

Kylo feels... different. Not as different as he thought, but still... it’s like a swinging pendulum. One minute it’s huge, and it’s a big step in their relationship. The next it’s just a different way to rub sensitive parts together. Then it’s like they’re married already. Then it’s not as exciting as he thought it would be. Then...

There’s a part of him, a big part, that is worried about Ben. Even though it’s nonsense, the reaction, mingled with his own, had been... confusing, to say the least.  And he’s trying not to think about it.

Hux had to leave for his duties, leaving Kylo lounging around his (their?) room as he wishes. Showered, and just... looking at the bed. 

They’re together, forever, and he feels incredible about _that_. Hux loves him as much as he loves Hux. They’re now official, a partnership. Someone there, in his corner. Someone who cares if he is upset or not, someone he can just... talk to. Spend time with. Kiss, cuddle, and fall asleep.

Oh, and the incredibly hot sex. Kylo knows why he waited, and he’s kind of glad he did. Not that it would have been any _lesser_ , or – maybe? He can see how it would be physically satisfying, but more than that is the look when Hux’s climax hits, or when he tells him he loves him. It’s... it’s... more than just his body.

Force, but he’s a sap. 

He just doesn’t know why Ben (now he’s thinking of his _name_ ) is freaking out so badly.

Because after the first minor freak out about being penetrated, damn, had he enjoyed it. 

*** 

Adrian’s called in sick, for... both of them. Well, Ben is work-from-home-or-coffee-shop-bill-the-hours, but Adrian should be with Ben’s mom organising the next step (surgeries and fundraisers and speeches and everything else), and Ben feels awful.

What if it causes problems? What if his mom gets pissed off that her son is messing up her career path? Or if she resents Adrian prioritising him, or if she thinks it’s a conflict of interest, or if she thinks Ben is faking it, or—

“Your mother asked if you need a care package, other than me,” he says, slipping his phone back (silenced) into his pocket.

“No, I’m okay.” It’s not even like there’s anything physically _wrong_ with him. 

“I haven’t said anything. I wouldn’t, without your permission.” Though from the scrunched up nose...

“You’re asking me to give you permission, aren’t you?”

“It’s your choice. You... you aren’t in any danger, are you?”

“...of what?”

“Ben...”

“You really think I – you think I might _do_ something?”

“Ben, I don’t know. I... plan for Sharknado, remember? I’m not trying to hurt you, or offend you, but if I didn’t ask and you... if something happened that I could have stopped?”

“...I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to help, I do, it’s. It’s...”

“You feel you need to hide things, so... you don’t upset me? Or to protect yourself?”

Ben buries his face in his hands. “You’ll hate me. You’ll see I’m crazy as all hell, and you’ll maybe lose your job, and I’ll lose you, and... I...”

A single finger, touching the back of his hand. It’s a small enough gesture that it only jars him slightly, “I’m not as ‘sane’ as you think. I think... everyone’s a little crazy, in their own ways. Maybe very different, but... Ben, I love you. And that won’t stop if I suddenly learn more about you. Knowing more _of_ you, means I can love who you _are_ all the more.”

“What if... what I say disgusts you?”

Adrian sucks his lips in, thinking. “Have you done – or planned to do – anything to break the law, or hurt others?”

“No?” The question is more wondering why he’s being asked, than his own doubt in his response.

“Then I promise you, it’s okay. And if it ever wasn’t, I’d discuss it with you, until it was. If this is something that truly worries you, you’re never going to be properly happy until you come to terms with it, or... at least learn how to live with it?”

“And you’re not going to – to hate me?”

Slowly, both hands reach for his face, cupping it so delicately that Ben could cry. “I love you. I _love_ you. All the parts that make me laugh, and the parts that worry me for your safety. So. You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.”

Cautiously, he lifts his hand and strokes over the backs. “Okay. Okay. Tell me... tell me what to do.”


End file.
